2nd Dare
Rocky Road #20. On the Ground with Whipped Cream, Sprinkles, and MALT
Rating : G
Timeframe : 1251
Word Count : 282
Malt : Sylvrilyn asked for more Sylvia
All across the dance floor, countless feet paraded. Sheets of silk and gauze wound among them, shifting, sliding, swaying to the beat. Sylvia looked to her own skirts, spread in a rumpled heap on the floor about her, and frowned.
A hand settled over her bare shoulder, calloused fingers gently cupping themselves around her. Sylvia turned to glower at its owner and the deep concern in her bright green eyes.
“Sylvi,” Farran started, her hand tightening its grasp.
Sylvia turned her gaze back to the swirling dancers and bit back a sigh. “It looks like so much fun,” she said.
“They wouldn’t understand.”
She wrenched her shoulder from Farran’s hold. “I don’t understand.” The cloud of silk around her waist bunched and folded as she slid herself across the floor and out of reach.
“Sylvi-”
She folded her arms across her chest and turned her nose to the air, determined not to hear another word the other said.
There was a sharp rap of shoes on wood and a pair of glossy black boots strode into view. Sylvia brought her eyes up slowly, over the polished leather to the neatly pressed dark pants, the crimson jacket, the beaming face of none other than Prince Terrel.
“Surely,” he said, a playful gleam in his eyes. “The floor is no place for a lady.” He bowed low, one delicate hand angled her way. “Care to dance?”
A quick glance over her shoulder found Farran regarding her with narrowed eyes, but she made no move to stop her. “Certainly,” said Sylvia, sliding her hand into the one offered her.
“Splendid,” said Terrel, cupping his other hand over hers as he pulled her from the floor.
Rating : G
Timeframe : 1251
Word Count : 282
Malt : Sylvrilyn asked for more Sylvia
All across the dance floor, countless feet paraded. Sheets of silk and gauze wound among them, shifting, sliding, swaying to the beat. Sylvia looked to her own skirts, spread in a rumpled heap on the floor about her, and frowned.
A hand settled over her bare shoulder, calloused fingers gently cupping themselves around her. Sylvia turned to glower at its owner and the deep concern in her bright green eyes.
“Sylvi,” Farran started, her hand tightening its grasp.
Sylvia turned her gaze back to the swirling dancers and bit back a sigh. “It looks like so much fun,” she said.
“They wouldn’t understand.”
She wrenched her shoulder from Farran’s hold. “I don’t understand.” The cloud of silk around her waist bunched and folded as she slid herself across the floor and out of reach.
“Sylvi-”
She folded her arms across her chest and turned her nose to the air, determined not to hear another word the other said.
There was a sharp rap of shoes on wood and a pair of glossy black boots strode into view. Sylvia brought her eyes up slowly, over the polished leather to the neatly pressed dark pants, the crimson jacket, the beaming face of none other than Prince Terrel.
“Surely,” he said, a playful gleam in his eyes. “The floor is no place for a lady.” He bowed low, one delicate hand angled her way. “Care to dance?”
A quick glance over her shoulder found Farran regarding her with narrowed eyes, but she made no move to stop her. “Certainly,” said Sylvia, sliding her hand into the one offered her.
“Splendid,” said Terrel, cupping his other hand over hers as he pulled her from the floor.