(Ooh yes. This is a good idea. So he is more desperate to make progress and internally like :') lol if I don't make any progress this is going to suck for both of us so please COMPLY and pretend that I've made progress but externally he's just like ':) I'm chill it's cool just come to this event with me)
"You call me a monster? Then you know nothing." O/O (Closed but y'all can stalk)
(Yesssssssssssssssssssssssss, and Cicada is just like, um no the entire time. Let's do this then.)
(Yes yes brilliant! Should I start, or shall you? And what sort of event do you think it should be?)
(I can start if you can wait until morning (It’s close to midnight where I’m at) and maybe some type of formal dinner or ball? Balls are fun.)
(Yes. Balls. I vote for that. Sure, I'll wait. ^-^ It's… uh… Almost 1 am here, so I know how you feel. 'XD I stay up waaaay too late, honestly, but it's fine.)
(Okay! I’ll make sure to do that then. (Also go to sleep child. It’s good for you lol))
The past few days had been interesting for Cicada. At first, the move into the room hadn't brought anything significant. The prince still came daily, sometimes multiple times a day, and the guards never left her room. She had been forced into a bath, which she was partially okay with, and she had been watched over to make sure she was eating the food they gave her. All of that had been partially expected by her, but what was happening more recently was stranger. Maids were coming in with seamstresses taking Cicada's measurements and bringing in cloth swatches. Cicada had been less than cooperative, she didn't know what they were doing, but she didn't like it. What need was there for her to have whatever they were making? She had been trying to ask the prince, but the seamstresses had been taking up most of her day and when the prince finally came around she was snippy and defensive.
Quentin came back one evening, after the seamstresses had finished harassing Cicada. As usual, he was accompanied by guards, who knocked thrice on her door before entering.
The doors swung open slowly. "Princess," Quentin greeted calmly, a smile on his face. He was dressed nicer than usual– and that was saying a lot, considering he was generally dressed to impress. "I have a surprise for you."
Cicada had been scrubbed heavily from head to toe. Her hair had then been done up and her circlet removed before she shoved it back into place enjoying the silence of minds that came with it. She had then been shoved into the deep red ballgown that was some mixture of poofy and fit and she was not loving it. It fit too tight on the top and the bottom felt like it was eating her up despite being tailored to her design. She didn't know where to put her wings other than a strange mixture of flared and tucked in to account for the fit top and puffy bottom. In her old kingdom she would have just worn a semi-tight dress, none of this poofy bottom crap. She looked to the prince with a mixture of annoyance, rage, and hatred, "It better not have anything to do with this dress."
Quentin grinned widely. "Oh, but it has everything to do with that dress." He clasped his hands together and announced, "You'll be accompanying me to a very important ceremony tonight. A ball, to be precise." He admired her dress a moment and before smiling yet again– though, to be fair, he never stopped. "And you look stunning, my dear. Absolutely stunning."
"Oh wonderful," Cicada responded dryly as she continued to glare at him. She really wanted to know what was going on in that little head of his, well she could, but it felt like too much of a waste of energy to do so. Her arms didn't know where to put themselves so she ended up just forcing them in the front pushing the fabric down, "Absolutely wonderful. Why am I accompanying you?"
Quentin held up two fingers. "Two reasons. The first reason," he said, wiggling one of his fingers, "is because I want you to come with me. I think it will be good for you to get out of this room and enjoy yourself a bit. And, truth be told, I'd be honored to have you as my guest. And the second reason–" He wiggled the next finger. "You look stunning in that dress." Of course, he had another motive– the ever-growing weight of the pressure being put on him by his parents to extract information from this woman (who he, for the record, was mildly terrified of but didn't desire to kill or torture)– but he didn't want to mention that one to her.
Cicada still wasn't a hundred percent sold on his reasoning. He wasn't sure how he looked until after he had entered the room, it just wasn't possible. Her wings bristled slightly before settling down and she made her way towards him and the door, "Fine, I'll go to this stupid ball. One, because I doubt I have a say otherwise. Two, because I was forcibly dolled up and I might as well make the most of it. And lastly, because yes, I am going a little stir crazy."
He smiled softly. "I'm glad you agree to come. I only request one thing. Please, don't try to kill me. It won't do either of us any good. I'm the only reason you're still in good condition, and I'm the only one who cares enough to keep it that way." Quentin said this softly, but with all seriousness. He didn't wait for her to reply before offering her his hand– the first gesture he'd made during any of their encounters that involved them actually physically touching one another. Granted, guards were nearby even now, just in case of an incident, but this was still different that before.
"Shall we?"
Cicada took his hand after a moment of consideration. Her gaze towards him was still hardened, but it was filled with less rage than earlier as it was in her best interest to not hurt him. The prince himself had pointed it out, “We shall. I see no point in killing you at the moment.”
Quentin smiled– a smile that seemed more sincere than some of his previous grins. "That's likely the nicest thing you've said to me all week." He wasted no more time, but rather brought her along with him, down the hallways and stairs, until they finally they reached the massive room where the ball was being held. The guards trailed along, but they were only there in case of an emergency, and Quentin tried his best not to be fearful for his life. Truth be told, he wasn't. Even without the guards standing between them, he felt less threatened by her presence now than he had since their first encounter.
Cicada rolled her eyes at his last comment. She was going to a ball, her first one in, in ever. It took sometime for that realization to sink in. Her parents had always insisted on giving as much of their wealth to their people and the war efforts that they never threw balls. They taught Cicada how to act and dance of course, but she had never been to one. As she walked she attempted to memorize the path only to get distracted by the compounding of insecurities and anxieties Cicada had never felt before. It didn’t help that the moment she and the prince entered it felt as if every eye in the room was on her. It took much effort but she kept her glass facade of confidence. Even if it had already started to crack.
Quentin seemed unfazed by the crowd, or by the eyes locked on the two of them. He gave Cicada's hand a gentle squeeze and tugged her on into the ballroom, smiling at anyone who acknowledged him and offering them a nod or small greeting. Though, he did attempt to avoid the most condensed parts of the crowds– possibly for Cicada's sake more than his own– and take the path of least resistance, to find some part of the room that seemed less dense. The trouble was that he was the prince, and he was a very important figure at this ball. People were even more interested in what he was up to when they saw his guest, so needless to say, a lot of attention was directed towards them.
Cicada’s heart felt like it was in her throat ready to jump out at any moment. Her placated face was the thing at the moment keeping her from breaking down. She didn’t bother to nod or speak to any of the guests. It felt like she was being shown off as a prize with her still growing hair that barely reached her chin and holes in her wings that were still healing. It all felt like too much. She would gladly give a speech over whatever this was.
"You seem uncomfortable," Quentin whispered, pulling her close enough to hear him over the sound of the other people in the room. His breath was against her ear, he realized, and he pulled himself back away from her some– likely for his own safety than anything. He didn't want to ignore her and get an eye clawed out. "I apologize. It's crowded; I know. Just try to relax, if you can. But you're not a prisoner here. You're a guest." He offered her a smile.
Cicada stiffened feeling his breath on her ear and in her heightened state was ready to attack him. But she held herself back as he stepped away. She assumed he hadn’t meant to get that close and let that bit of adrenaline fade away. She hated that he could tell she wasn’t comfortable in this setting and let those feelings override the fear for but a moment. She half hissed out, “I feel more like a prize being shown off than a prisoner or a guest, your highness.”
"Apologies," Quentin repeated, though he was careful not to get too close this time. He could feel the eyes on him, and now it was his turn to be slightly uncomfortable. He didn't show it, of course, but he felt pressured to do two things. One– prove to his parents that progress had been made. Two– keep Cicada from getting upset with him and trying to take his head off. But with all of the unwanted attention, she was uncomfortable– and he was starting to get that way, too, but he managed to hold himself together nicely and smile at her a bit.
Cicada didn't glare at him as much as she used to. She figured that would only get her killed quicker, even though death would be better than her current situation. She stayed quiet as she couldn't shake the feeling of the eyes on her. It didn't help that the dress had already made her uncomfortable with no real way to keep her wings tucked to her in a resting position. It only added to the list of things she hated about this kingdom, they're sense of fashion.
((Let's see; how should this go down, you think?))
(Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, what do you mean how should this go down? Will they have a meltdown? Will Cicada have a meltdown? Will everything go alright? That type of stuff right?)
((Yes yes. Like essentially what should happen during this whole ordeal. >:3 ))
(Oh wonderful. >:) I definitely think one of the two having some type of meltdown would be quite fun (If you couldn't tell already) probably from some nobles that were getting a little too pushy.)
(evil laughter I like meltdowns. Okay so sorry for so many questions, but I'll try to ask them all at once as to not put off the RP. Shall you play the nobles, or shall I? If I do, should I make them ask questions such as… well, you know, why is this woman here and why are you with her and where are the remaining rebel outcasts from the old kingdom hm hm hm etc etc etc )
(Questions are always a good thing. I like the questions to the end, they make a lot of sense. And I can play the nobles, but it might be better if you do so.)
((What if we both play nobles? XD Just a buncha' nosy nobles gathering around and prying these poor people for information with Quentin internally like get away can't you see I'm struggling and Cicada literally breaking down. XD))