Fic: MSPA - Steampunk AU - Dance
awwright, time to post a fic on here. Woo!
This is based off of this AU of MS Paint Adventures. yay steampunk felt.
Title: Dance
Fandom: MSPA - Steampunk AU
Pairings: Lord English/Dorian Scratch (AU!Doc Scratch)
Rating: G
One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three… Lord English counted out the rhythm of the music in his head, fixing himself on it. It was a waltz, set in C major- not very interesting, but the constant pace was a nice anchor. It was keeping him concentrated, concentrated on something other than the distracting scene around him- a gigantic, snug room with a vaulted ceiling: the Guild’s ceremonial ballroom, all done up for a fancy party Lord Artificer Blackmoore was holding this evening. Everything was dressed up and polished, gold and brown and silver and shining, and there were people flitting around the tables and social circles like moths from flame to flame, or electron from atom to atom. The most orderly changes of group were on the floor of the ballroom, where many of the patrons were waltzing in time with the music, played by a small collection of orchestral musicians.
Lord English sipped at the fine sparkling wine in his glass, eyes straying around the dancing couples. His gaze kept on being drawn back to them, since they matched the beat he was set upon. And as he watched them, he caught sight of Dorian again.
It wasn’t as though English hadn’t wanted to bring him- he never wanted to go anywhere without Dorian- but, as he watched his manservant crossing the floor with a laughing, rosy-cheeked debutante, he began to regret asking Dorian to come along with him. Dorian seemed to be having a lovely time out on the dance floor, with that smiling lady, away from English. And though Lord English knew down to his very core that Dorian loved him and always would, he couldn’t help but feel a quick spike of emotions- curiosity, longing… jealousy.
The feelings passed, leaving their imprints behind, and English began to count the bubbles in his drink to keep his mind off of Dorian dancing- one-two-three went his feet as they tapped around the marble floor, effortlessly keeping his giggling dance partner sliding alongside him.
“Lord English?” English looked up as he heard his name, and was met with the sight of the Lord Artificer himself walking over in his stuffy, stately manner. Blackmoore always seemed to act friendly towards English- no surprise there, trying to curry favor with one of the most powerful men in town- and though English usually found his flat conversation boring, he was glad to have someone to talk to. “Good evening, Lord English. How are you enjoying the gala?” Blackmoore said in his deep, toneless voice as he reached English’s table, putting on the ghost of a smile. Lord English returned it multiplied twenty-fold, a cheery- if somewhat false- grin spreading across his face.
“Ah, yes! It’s lovely, Lord Artificer. Absolutely smashing,” English replied, and it wasn’t a lie. “I quite like how you’ve done the place up.” He gestured vaguely towards the decorations, and the Lord Artificer’s smile grew just a bit more proud.
“I happened to notice that you’ve been seated for a while now, sir. If you forgot to bring someone along to dance with, there’s a good supply of young ladies who would no doubt enjoy the attentions of a man such as yourself,” Blackmoore replied, nodding towards the dance floor. At this, though it was nearly undetectable, English’s face fell; as silly as it was… he had been hoping Dorian would agree to be his dance partner. When he thought about it, he realized how ludicrous such a suggestion would be, but Lord English couldn’t help but feel a little melancholy about it.
It struck him that he should reply to Blackmoore, and so he did: “Ah, no, I’m fine. In any case, I can’t dance worth a damn.” He chuckled a bit with the last part, and Blackmoore gave an emotionless ‘heh’ along with him.
“Sadly enough, I am the same.” Blackmoore eyed the table English leaned against, and noted the empty glasses there- as well as the empty wine bottle. “Sir, I do not mean to speak out of place… but are all of those glasses yours?”
“Hm?” Lord English shook himself away from watching the dance floor, and he glanced at the table. “Oh… I… I suppose they are! …Er.” He paused awkwardly. English knew all too well what happened when he didn’t pay attention to what he drank. Though he retained his lucidity, what with his mind being much larger than his body, alcohol and the like still had quite an effect on his corporeal form. “Um.”
“Shall I call Mr. Scratch over for you, sir?” Blackmoore said tonelessly, and English gave a quick nod and mumbled ‘yes, thank you,’ as the man turned and walked away. Goodness, he really did have to start paying attention at these parties- at this rate he was going to make himself a reputation as a drunkard. But it was so difficult to keep track of everything when everyone was talking and laughing, and there were so many shiny things and strange noises, and servants kept on offering him such pretty drinks…
The waltz in C major came to an end, and when English looked up he saw Dorian set his dance partner back on the ground again. He smiled and bowed to her, took her hand, and pressed a single kiss to its knuckles; English couldn’t help but sigh as he watched the girl blush and twitter, like a particularly pleased little songbird.
A servant came up to Dorian and stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, and immediately Dorian turned and headed for his master. Lord English gave him a sheepish smile as he came into earshot. “I’m sorry, I just… I lost track again!”
“My Lord, you really must learn to control yourself,” Dorian chided him softly, crossing over to his master and straightening the tie around his neck, before taking him gently by the arm and pulling him to his feet. English teetered for but a second, and then gained his balance. “Hmm… you apparently kept a better eye on your drinks this time, though.”
“I made quite the conscious effort,” English said proudly. Dorian chuckled and shook his head, taking his master by the sleeve of his coat and pulling him towards the exit; English only barely leaned on his servant as he walked, smiling vaguely.
Behind the smile, though, his mind was racing, trying to puzzle out a way to finally be able to dance with his beloved Dorian.
-----
“Oh, work, you confounded machine, work!” A sharp smack met the side of the phonograph, making it shake and creak and finally spit out a few notes from the useless record set into its needle. “That’s more like it, you silly chunk of wood! Goodness…”
English straightened up and listened a few moments more to make sure the phonograph was really working; satisfied with the soft notes he heard, he switched it off and removed the record. He’d picked this funny thing up during his travels- about thirty or so years ahead of the current times, so not too anachronistic- because he’d found it to be a marvelous little knickknack; only now did he have a reason to use it, though.
With his deft fingers Lord English flipped through a small container of paper envelopes, each one with a record inside, until he found the one he was looking for. He slipped it out of its protective envelope, set it onto the phonograph, set the machine going, and placed its needle into the groove.
Ever so faintly, the soft beginning notes of a waltz began to filter out of the phonograph’s horn, and English settled himself in the middle of the cleared room. It crossed his mind for a moment, as he put his arms out- one resting on an imaginary shoulder, the other with its hand resting in an imaginary hand- that he should feel silly doing this. But no- he was just practicing, there was nothing silly about that. He was just practicing.
The music swelled, and as it floated up, it carried English with it; his feet began to move one-two-three, one-two-three and he danced slowly around the room, humming along with the music, growing faster as the music’s tempo increased. Now, the steps came naturally to his feet; he smiled to himself and closed his eyes, dancing around the room in circles, practicing in private. Lovely music continued to come forth from the phonograph. As English spun in his dance, his great coat flew out behind him, fluttering with every move he made.
English had just begun to think ‘I’m getting the hang of this’ to himself when he suddenly felt a shoulder beneath one hand and long, cool fingers under the other. His eyes flew open and, for a moment, his feet stuttered; but a hand came to rest on his waist, guiding him back into the dance, and he heard a voice say: “Shhh, shhh. You’re doing fine.”
English couldn’t help but let a smile creep on his face when he saw Dorian smile up at him, having slipped into the dance and now leading English around the room. He noted that practicing was much easier when he actually had a partner. “Dorian! Oh… goodness, thank you- I was beginning to get a little bored doing this all by myself.”
“I couldn’t help but wonder why you were watching me dance the other evening,” Dorian said softly, looking away- trying to be modest and proper, as always. It was almost endearing when English didn’t find it frustrating.
English’s eyes softened when he heard Dorian speak. “I was just… ah, I feel like a fool for this, but… I had wanted to dance with you then. Not with anyone else… just you.”
Dorian looked up at him finally, still leading Lord English around the room as they danced. He looked almost sad. He understood this matter all too well. “I understand, my Lord… Lord English. I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright, Dorian,” English replied, shaking his head and smiling softly at him as they spun around, slowing with the music. “In any case, I wouldn’t have known how to dance with you then.”
“You seem to be picking it up rather quickly, now,” Dorian replied, a smile coming back onto his face, their feet stilling. “You’re actually very good at waltzing.”
“Perhaps we could move on to a more complex dance next,” Lord English said, and he leaned down quickly to kiss Dorian on the lips. He knew he’d never tire of kisses- each one was so new and sweet and different from the last, but the way their faces fit together and how Dorian’s face would flush ever-so-slightly was always indescribably wonderful. He pulled away and smiled at Dorian, a broad smile full of love. Dorian returned a smaller smile, but it still mirrored English’s.
Quietly, English closed the gap between them and rested his chin on Dorian’s head, and Dorian nestled his face into English’s neck. There, the two stayed, swaying softly, even as the music faded away.
This is based off of this AU of MS Paint Adventures. yay steampunk felt.
Title: Dance
Fandom: MSPA - Steampunk AU
Pairings: Lord English/Dorian Scratch (AU!Doc Scratch)
Rating: G
One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three… Lord English counted out the rhythm of the music in his head, fixing himself on it. It was a waltz, set in C major- not very interesting, but the constant pace was a nice anchor. It was keeping him concentrated, concentrated on something other than the distracting scene around him- a gigantic, snug room with a vaulted ceiling: the Guild’s ceremonial ballroom, all done up for a fancy party Lord Artificer Blackmoore was holding this evening. Everything was dressed up and polished, gold and brown and silver and shining, and there were people flitting around the tables and social circles like moths from flame to flame, or electron from atom to atom. The most orderly changes of group were on the floor of the ballroom, where many of the patrons were waltzing in time with the music, played by a small collection of orchestral musicians.
Lord English sipped at the fine sparkling wine in his glass, eyes straying around the dancing couples. His gaze kept on being drawn back to them, since they matched the beat he was set upon. And as he watched them, he caught sight of Dorian again.
It wasn’t as though English hadn’t wanted to bring him- he never wanted to go anywhere without Dorian- but, as he watched his manservant crossing the floor with a laughing, rosy-cheeked debutante, he began to regret asking Dorian to come along with him. Dorian seemed to be having a lovely time out on the dance floor, with that smiling lady, away from English. And though Lord English knew down to his very core that Dorian loved him and always would, he couldn’t help but feel a quick spike of emotions- curiosity, longing… jealousy.
The feelings passed, leaving their imprints behind, and English began to count the bubbles in his drink to keep his mind off of Dorian dancing- one-two-three went his feet as they tapped around the marble floor, effortlessly keeping his giggling dance partner sliding alongside him.
“Lord English?” English looked up as he heard his name, and was met with the sight of the Lord Artificer himself walking over in his stuffy, stately manner. Blackmoore always seemed to act friendly towards English- no surprise there, trying to curry favor with one of the most powerful men in town- and though English usually found his flat conversation boring, he was glad to have someone to talk to. “Good evening, Lord English. How are you enjoying the gala?” Blackmoore said in his deep, toneless voice as he reached English’s table, putting on the ghost of a smile. Lord English returned it multiplied twenty-fold, a cheery- if somewhat false- grin spreading across his face.
“Ah, yes! It’s lovely, Lord Artificer. Absolutely smashing,” English replied, and it wasn’t a lie. “I quite like how you’ve done the place up.” He gestured vaguely towards the decorations, and the Lord Artificer’s smile grew just a bit more proud.
“I happened to notice that you’ve been seated for a while now, sir. If you forgot to bring someone along to dance with, there’s a good supply of young ladies who would no doubt enjoy the attentions of a man such as yourself,” Blackmoore replied, nodding towards the dance floor. At this, though it was nearly undetectable, English’s face fell; as silly as it was… he had been hoping Dorian would agree to be his dance partner. When he thought about it, he realized how ludicrous such a suggestion would be, but Lord English couldn’t help but feel a little melancholy about it.
It struck him that he should reply to Blackmoore, and so he did: “Ah, no, I’m fine. In any case, I can’t dance worth a damn.” He chuckled a bit with the last part, and Blackmoore gave an emotionless ‘heh’ along with him.
“Sadly enough, I am the same.” Blackmoore eyed the table English leaned against, and noted the empty glasses there- as well as the empty wine bottle. “Sir, I do not mean to speak out of place… but are all of those glasses yours?”
“Hm?” Lord English shook himself away from watching the dance floor, and he glanced at the table. “Oh… I… I suppose they are! …Er.” He paused awkwardly. English knew all too well what happened when he didn’t pay attention to what he drank. Though he retained his lucidity, what with his mind being much larger than his body, alcohol and the like still had quite an effect on his corporeal form. “Um.”
“Shall I call Mr. Scratch over for you, sir?” Blackmoore said tonelessly, and English gave a quick nod and mumbled ‘yes, thank you,’ as the man turned and walked away. Goodness, he really did have to start paying attention at these parties- at this rate he was going to make himself a reputation as a drunkard. But it was so difficult to keep track of everything when everyone was talking and laughing, and there were so many shiny things and strange noises, and servants kept on offering him such pretty drinks…
The waltz in C major came to an end, and when English looked up he saw Dorian set his dance partner back on the ground again. He smiled and bowed to her, took her hand, and pressed a single kiss to its knuckles; English couldn’t help but sigh as he watched the girl blush and twitter, like a particularly pleased little songbird.
A servant came up to Dorian and stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, and immediately Dorian turned and headed for his master. Lord English gave him a sheepish smile as he came into earshot. “I’m sorry, I just… I lost track again!”
“My Lord, you really must learn to control yourself,” Dorian chided him softly, crossing over to his master and straightening the tie around his neck, before taking him gently by the arm and pulling him to his feet. English teetered for but a second, and then gained his balance. “Hmm… you apparently kept a better eye on your drinks this time, though.”
“I made quite the conscious effort,” English said proudly. Dorian chuckled and shook his head, taking his master by the sleeve of his coat and pulling him towards the exit; English only barely leaned on his servant as he walked, smiling vaguely.
Behind the smile, though, his mind was racing, trying to puzzle out a way to finally be able to dance with his beloved Dorian.
-----
“Oh, work, you confounded machine, work!” A sharp smack met the side of the phonograph, making it shake and creak and finally spit out a few notes from the useless record set into its needle. “That’s more like it, you silly chunk of wood! Goodness…”
English straightened up and listened a few moments more to make sure the phonograph was really working; satisfied with the soft notes he heard, he switched it off and removed the record. He’d picked this funny thing up during his travels- about thirty or so years ahead of the current times, so not too anachronistic- because he’d found it to be a marvelous little knickknack; only now did he have a reason to use it, though.
With his deft fingers Lord English flipped through a small container of paper envelopes, each one with a record inside, until he found the one he was looking for. He slipped it out of its protective envelope, set it onto the phonograph, set the machine going, and placed its needle into the groove.
Ever so faintly, the soft beginning notes of a waltz began to filter out of the phonograph’s horn, and English settled himself in the middle of the cleared room. It crossed his mind for a moment, as he put his arms out- one resting on an imaginary shoulder, the other with its hand resting in an imaginary hand- that he should feel silly doing this. But no- he was just practicing, there was nothing silly about that. He was just practicing.
The music swelled, and as it floated up, it carried English with it; his feet began to move one-two-three, one-two-three and he danced slowly around the room, humming along with the music, growing faster as the music’s tempo increased. Now, the steps came naturally to his feet; he smiled to himself and closed his eyes, dancing around the room in circles, practicing in private. Lovely music continued to come forth from the phonograph. As English spun in his dance, his great coat flew out behind him, fluttering with every move he made.
English had just begun to think ‘I’m getting the hang of this’ to himself when he suddenly felt a shoulder beneath one hand and long, cool fingers under the other. His eyes flew open and, for a moment, his feet stuttered; but a hand came to rest on his waist, guiding him back into the dance, and he heard a voice say: “Shhh, shhh. You’re doing fine.”
English couldn’t help but let a smile creep on his face when he saw Dorian smile up at him, having slipped into the dance and now leading English around the room. He noted that practicing was much easier when he actually had a partner. “Dorian! Oh… goodness, thank you- I was beginning to get a little bored doing this all by myself.”
“I couldn’t help but wonder why you were watching me dance the other evening,” Dorian said softly, looking away- trying to be modest and proper, as always. It was almost endearing when English didn’t find it frustrating.
English’s eyes softened when he heard Dorian speak. “I was just… ah, I feel like a fool for this, but… I had wanted to dance with you then. Not with anyone else… just you.”
Dorian looked up at him finally, still leading Lord English around the room as they danced. He looked almost sad. He understood this matter all too well. “I understand, my Lord… Lord English. I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright, Dorian,” English replied, shaking his head and smiling softly at him as they spun around, slowing with the music. “In any case, I wouldn’t have known how to dance with you then.”
“You seem to be picking it up rather quickly, now,” Dorian replied, a smile coming back onto his face, their feet stilling. “You’re actually very good at waltzing.”
“Perhaps we could move on to a more complex dance next,” Lord English said, and he leaned down quickly to kiss Dorian on the lips. He knew he’d never tire of kisses- each one was so new and sweet and different from the last, but the way their faces fit together and how Dorian’s face would flush ever-so-slightly was always indescribably wonderful. He pulled away and smiled at Dorian, a broad smile full of love. Dorian returned a smaller smile, but it still mirrored English’s.
Quietly, English closed the gap between them and rested his chin on Dorian’s head, and Dorian nestled his face into English’s neck. There, the two stayed, swaying softly, even as the music faded away.