by Glenn » Sat Nov 17, 2012 7:52 am
It had been a brilliant use of power, really, Galacia reaching him like this. Glenn Burnie had not dreamed since his incident in Underdark. There were hints, pieces, specks of such things since Catch did.. whatever he did in the basement of the Dagger a year before, since Rhaena was transformed into who she was now, but no more than that. He could not assault dreams. He could not be assaulted in his own. His link with the begowned mentalist, however? That was constant, forever. Were a powerful dreamwitch to enter her dream, she may well reach him, and so she did. But look at the danger Galacia exposed herself to?
Look at this.
Propriety. Rigidity of morals and societal norms. Perfect and proper. Everything in its place and everything utterly defined. This was Rhaena's world. This was Rhaena's dream. This was her very reality. Aristocratic grace and behavioral conformity. Did Galacia feel the tug? Had she ever felt anything like this before? Glenn knew it well, but he had room to move that she may not. His shirt had changed slightly. His clothes had initially been tempered to please the Olwak woman, but he had a certain flexibility. She, however, was in the most succulent trap that the world had ever seen. Intent didn't matter, not in the face of such stifling properness.
Glenn, however.. Glenn could move. He was a man who understood nuance, such small, meaningful nuance. "Hello, dearest beloved. May I say that you beam with pulchritude tonight?" Apologetic again, this time to Rhaena, for he had not been able to get her seat for her. He'd already been slumped and leaning, posture poor when she arrived. Now, though, now he would dare to go even farther than mere bad posture. The air was thick, scented with that peppermint, sweet but utterly stifling. Heavy. Repressive, as different from Burnie's Golden Myrken as could be. There the emotions were obvious and intense, larger than life. Here they were confined and so deeply, thoroughly focused. There, the cresting wave of an ocean of human glory would thrash and drown out all other sounds. Here? Here the unexpected sound of a dropping pin could send shockwaves down one's spine.
So he leaned towards his bethrothed, creeping past societal barriers, past layer and layer of unseen, immaterial lace that was to separate males and females here at this tea party, in this world that was not a world at all. Pressure rose, built, the air rippling, as he moved in ever closer still. The Governor and his woman would be unscathed, but as a captive witness, the ripples would hit Galacia one after the next; Galacia, who knew such liberation, who knew such sensation, who used the flesh of others like a young woman placing her dolls in all too carnal positions.
Youthful Glenn would lean in and brush his lips against Rhaena's, a momentary flash, the tiniest thing, the world's most insubstantial kiss, but in this environment of propriety and high culture, it was sacrosanct, profane, the height of risque daring. The ripples of pressure and force, an inner pounding of empty space, not of what could be done but what would NOT be done, this sensation that had been building for so small a thing, so slight an act of affection: sensation that might utterly destroy a lesser being, would now rush at Galacia, clad in her dress like an elaborate doll herself.
Of course she was bored. When one was so much a libertine as her, excess itself would lose it's meaning. Thus, in the aftermath of that tiniest kiss to Rhaena, Burnie would retreat, turning his head slightly to Galacia winking at her, if there was, after all, anything left of who she had been, if it had not all been washed away. Such a small world she lived in, Galacia Tarin-Vraal. There was so much more for her to learn.