<div class="floatright">(https://pre00.deviantart.net/8665/th/pre/f/2014/155/c/8/white_fairy___stock_by_mariaamanda-d7l12qi.jpg)</div>Name:  Elia<br/>Location: Ballroom<br/>Tagging: Isobelle, Count Titus, William<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Elia’s tongue slid over the corner of her own mouth, in an echo of where the other woman’s had been a moment before. Not so much to double check every last bit of confection had been made use of - that Elia was already sure of, so thorough in its heart-fluttering sensuality had the moment been - but a chance for a tasting of her own, to savor the echo of the other woman’s lips and saliva. Elia thought she saw just a hint of sparkle on the other woman’s lips now, where her own lipstick had left tis Tinkerbell fairy-dusting. She giggled under her breath, reminded me of the<em>I can fly, I can fly!</em>song from Peter Pan. For that was about how she felt.<br/><br/>She felt just that light as she glided up Isobelle’s arm about the room, noting and giggling with the people-watching. “My god - gods? - if I remember my senior mythology class last year, it looks like both Thor and Anubis walk among mortals this eve? And that other fellow, mmm, a jawline like Superman’s. I wonder what sort of lady would be his Lois Lane, what sort his Wonder Woman, and what sort his kryptonite…and that other young man, doesn’t he look like like sort sort of dashing art thief or stock market criminal, the sort to seduce the ladies right out of their jewelry and clothes, steal away virtue and jewelry alike, maybe let one lucky lady finding herself waking up in some sort of red and black silk opulent sex dungeon of his...”<br/><br/>For all that, Elia’s eyes lingered overlong on a gentleman with white suit and beard, “Bella, he looks so silky and smooth...like you could curl up in front of a fire on a rug and be practically hypnotized by stories and yarns and teachings of such a worldly fellow, seduced by stories of swinging decades past, or romantic medieval poetry…”<br/>When Bella pointed out the man in the dragon mask, Elia nodded and giggled, “I bet he has appetites to match, do you suppose the dragon’s looking for a village maiden sacrifice to devour...my goodness, what if he’s knight and beast all rolled into one....”<br/><br/>Elia bit her lip just as often looking over the ladies, though, one who seemed like she might have been a smoky Mediterranean beauty in red had Elia briefly affect a purring faux-Spanish accent under her breath to Isobelle, “Looks like she could pour red wine all over you and still blind-taste the correct vintage when she licks it off you…perhaps with the right fellow to strum guitar to set the scene,” Elia admired some of the orchestra members as well as she said this. Then Elia cast a long look at a fellow blonde who wore a mask which was like a dark counterpart to her own: black, but also wire style, airy and wide and high on the face, “She looks haughty in the right sort of way, like I always imagined Marie Antoinette…or like she could be my wicked stepmother….my<em>very, very</em>wicked stepmother who keeps this princess in a tower for god-knows what blood magic….”<br/><br/>When the Count approached, Elia recognized him, his mask anyway, from when he had the Countess had announced the welcome at the clock-struck hour. Elia gasped under her breath, feeling rather honored to be so asked by the host of such an extravagant gathering. She curtsied low. “Why yes...sir...my lord….host...sir...yes I waltz” she realized she was completely unsure about titles. Her father had raised her respectfully, and with a joking habit of referring to him and his old military buddies by the ranks they’d held before profitably pivoting from patriotic duty to private sector profiteering. But she much less sure about aristocratic titles and the like. Then she realized, silly girl, this was a masquerade anyway, she wouldn’t be expected to know anyone’s title, at least not yet.<br/><br/>Then all that was forgotten - the way this man swept her into his arms was, like, well, like she was Tinkerbell or Wendy again, flying effortlessly on a pixie dust trail. As she spun out of sight of Bella, she mouthed, “Find me again…” with a wink of one eye, and a lick of her lip. She glanced to the Norse god who seemed about to embark on the most civilized sort of pillaging across the dance floor with Isobelle, and Elia found herself licking her lips again.<br/><br/>Then she turned her full attention to her own leader in this dance, and told him, “My father saw fit have my tutored in ballroom dancing, for just such….well I never imagined anything on this scale, but whatever debutante balls or collegiate dances might’e been in mind for my near future. I did years of ballet, but, of course that is quite different….”<br/><br/>Then she realized she was going on like some overexcited, tipsy, gossipy girl - which was precisely what she was. Between her dance partner’s practiced grace, and her own year of tutelage, the dance seemed like floating, marvelously effortless. She tried to keep her voice slower and measured - and was only half successful - as she went on, “Why do I feel like Christine, just swept up by the Phantom…or like a Victorian maiden about to be made a vampire...” She looked deep into the Count’s mask, into his eyes. God, they were hypnotic, like he were a gothic fairy tale sorcerer dragging her gaze about with some crystal ball he held. Elia was very glad suddenly, that the waltz was so effortless with such a partner, it was like she was simply a stone spinning and skipping over a flat lake cast over in fog. “I don’t care if I’m dreaming,” she vocalized, but now it was as much to herself as deliberately spoken to the Count, “as long as it’s not too soon I must wake.”<br/><br/>Elia had danced with grace so far, an easy thing between her training and he Count's impeccable lead, but as the next song ended she went for an extravagant ballet flourish. She spun about, under the Count's arm, then practically around him, ending with a jump and pirouette and another low curtesy with arts outstretched.<br/><br/>Perhaps it was the champagne, or the high heels instead of ballet slippers, but for all her toe-crunching years of ballet she made one little misstep now. She stumbled over a bit in the transition from jump to curtsey. She found the fingers of one outstretched hand brush through a silky beard, and then a split second after, her rump nudged right up against the front of a man - yes, she could suddenly feel,<em>definitely</em>the front, and<em>definitely</em>a man - in a white suit. She looked up behind her own shoulder, to see a wolf mask. "Oh my, sorry my lord!" she giggled.  "Eep! Little Red Riding Hood just found the big bad wolf!"