by catch » Tue Jun 25, 2013 8:49 am
Cherny was too much, too much, and Catch's composure quickly melts, his burning face hiding in his rough palms, unable to look at Ser Elliot, or Lady - Miss Rhaena, or Kals, and certainly not his Dreamlady, though they were right there, and the Dreamlady and Ser Kals were stunning, and somehow, that made it all worse. What was the Dreamlady doing here, anyway? She was Wild. She was not meant for polished floors and genteel music. He hid himself, and his ridiculous, elfin ears burned red under the wild, violet-and-red strewn curls.
"Ser Eater," Catch says, absolutely mortified even as giggles squeezed out past his fingers, his broad, gold-strewn shoulders shaking form sheer effort. It was simply awful, that title, awful and wonderful, and Catch was not deserving of it. It was Elliot's words that finally sobered him, his mirth-wet eyes peering over the cage of silver-scarred fingers, wide and not-so humored.
"You've known Ser Eater f-f-f-for some time," the addled man puts forth, timidly, for while others have learned, he has not. He is slow. His shattered confidence can be anchored by the tapered horn-sword on his back, but that could not bring back addled worm-path strewn brains.
He did not mention that they had rather disliked each-other.
"F-f-for some time," he adds, with somewhat more confidence. His eyes, now, were upon Miss Rhaena, and he, he was a ship's prow. Without any further word or apologies, Catch struck forth from the comfort of the food-tables, his long arms swinging free, plowing through the dance floor and crowds of people with little regard or apology. As he went, his mind scratched about for some words to say, among Gloria's accusation, among Whelp's promise and Nova's confusion. Did he not have any words of his own? he asked himself, but the worm-paths were dry, the blood-pools still. So that, before he even comes face-to-face with Rhaena, he has a jumble of words that are ready to spill out, but they are entirely the wrong ones, taken from Gloria's answer to his timid questions about taste.
"Why are you sleeping with Ser Elliot, Miss Rhaena?" And it comes forth loud, loud, much too loud, because of the music and the gossip.