#[no pain — only smooches].masquerade.verse

[secondflame-archive]

masquerade ball starter for @sharpnosedscout

There are few things Clive actually enjoys during festivities such as this. Usually he finds them too loud, too crowded and the false pleasantries exchanged make him uncomfortable, for he can see the way near all of these other nobles regard him in the same way his mother does, with disdain. By now it is widely knows that interacting with him would not gain them any favour with the Duchess, so they avoid him like the plague, granted that he's not at his brother's side. The ones that don't shun him are mayhap even worse for the pity in their gaze.

Clive sighs, gaze straying out one of the massive windows of the ballroom, wondering how much longer he'd have to endure this before he could sneak away.

For now he has found a hiding place leaning against a wall on the far side of the room, watching the spectacle, listening to the music. At some point his attention turns entirely to the musicians, captivated by the ease with which they coax beautiful melodies from their instruments. Clive isn't able to carry a tune if his life depended on it, so it always fascinated him to see other's do so with ease.

At some point he locks eyes with a bard just as another song fades out, having watched him work his instrument instead of anything or anyone else for what he realizes must have been a good long while. Embarassed to have been caught staring, Clive starts and looks away, hiding his face in the goblet of wine he'd been nursing over the past hour for lack of anything else to do, only to realize that it is empty.

Acting as if he didn't just try to take a sip from a cup devoid of liquid, he makes his way to get something else, mayhap some water would suit him better, his face feels flushed enough as is.

[secondflame-archive]

masquerade ball starter for @creatrix-mea

Roughly an hour until the first guests arive, he thinks as he walks by several servants working to get the last preperations for the ball out of the way. He would love to lend a hand, do something to keep his hands busy and his mind occupied.

However, with his mask held tightly in one hand, his festive attire in place and also already sufficiently uncomfortable as he tends to be before bigger events such as this, Clive instead is forced to make his way through the castle halls towards his mother's study. Her having summoned him on very short notice.

His hair is for once tamed into a somewhat tidied appearance, although it threatens to curl at the the ends, whatever the servants tried to put into it this time to keep it straight failing it's intended purpose like all the others before it.

He breathes deeply, shuffling his feet as he stands infront of the door, jaw clenched, teeth grinding. A nervous knot in the pit of his stomach keeps him from raising his hand to knock. It's never a good sign when the duchess bids him for conversation.

As of late she seems to prefer to act as if he doesn't exist at all, which is an improvement to the open hostility she utilized before. However, it is also all the more reason to be wary of whatever she means to speak to him about now.

At last he raises a hand to knock and then, he waits.

[secondflame-archive]

masquerade ball starter for @equescaeli

Clive had kept to the sidelines all evening, leaving Joshua to do most of the talking, rarely straying from his side for his own comfort's sake rather than his duty as First Shield. His brother knows of course, but doesn't seem to mind nor appear determined to tease him about it, only offering a comforting hand to his shoulder at some point when Clive appears particularly tense.

Sometimes Clive wonders just how much of their relationship is Joshua protecting him rather than the other way around...

The music, and consequently the dancing started about an hour ago, with various pairs having made their way to and from the middle of the room in the meantime. Clive has never been one for dancing, enjoys to watch the pairs twirl rather than doing the twirling himself so to speak.

He is also meant to engage with the conversation Joshua got roped into, at least judging by the nudge of his brother's elbow against his side. Rather than doing so, however he is distracted anew when his gaze strays to the far side of the ballroom where he spots a familiar figure. Of course his face is mostly concealed by the mask he is wearing due to the nature of the event and Clive hasn't seen this man in far too long, but he still recognizes him within seconds, his golden hair and the intricate brooch in the shape of Sanbreque's token flower on his attire a dead giveaway.

It's then that Cllve excuses himself from his brother's side for the first time that evening, making his way towards an old friend. One he hasn't seen in over a decade.

"Dion!" He exclaims once he's within earshot, and immediately regrets the way he raised his voice and the lack of titles used in his excitement when several heads turn his way with matching looks of exasperation. Clive nearly whinces, lips pressing together in embarrassment ere he manages an apologetic smile. He steps closer, lowering his voice even as Dion and him step away from the crowd to talk. "I thought your father declined our invitation." At least Clive had been told as much a while back when letters were first sent out, thinking that Sanbreque would go without a representative for this event. In fact, it's been a while since any ambassadors from the Empire came to visit either, the relationship between Rosaria and Sanbreque a strained one ever since the Empire began to seek to widen their influence beyond their current borders.

[secondflame-archive]

"Not silly, no," he says with sudden worry furrowing his brow that he has offended that other man by saying this. "I simply didn't think I'd find myself at the center of anyone's dreams." His breath hitches as he realizes the implications, and then it catches in his chest at the utterance of these next words. His cheeks flush deeper behind the mask. By the Flames, this is not what he expected when stepping into the ballroom tonight.

He is at a loss for words. This stranger has given him much and more tonight, so much that it feels like a dream to him too, as if he stepped into a fantasy, but one he'd never dared imagine himself. His lips part to ask the other's name as well when he calls him not by title or family name, but by his given name instead. In this moment he wants nothing more than to take off the mask, to take off the stranger's mask as well, to see his face and those gentle green eyes unobstructed.

But the other man speaks first and Clive blinks to look down at his hand, offered out to ask for a dance for the second time that evening.

Clive looks back up at him searchingly, but then chuckles in exasperation that after his earlier display this man would still want to attempt and lead him in a dance. Clive shakes his head in disbelief, but gives the other a bright, near giddy smile afterwards. "Yes," he says as he takes his hand anew. "I will dance with you."

As if he could deny him at this point.

The second they step outside, Clive feels his chest expand on an easier breath. Away from prying and judgmental eyes and with the chilly air of the night soothing the stubborn flush prevailing on his cheeks he allows himself the first moment of relaxation since this night began.

A notion that is only furthered by the warm hand still gently holding his own, a knee intimately pressing against his. It feels surreal, he doesn't even know this man's name, nor has he seen his face in its entirety. By the Flames if he didn't know better he'd think he stepped into one of the old fairytales he used to read as a child, except Clive was a far cry from the fair maidens getting whisked away from their troubles by a handsome stranger--

He cleared his throat, his own thoughts now serving to embarass him rather than the circumstances themselves, and speaking of, he'd likely have to weather some pointed words from the Duchess later on for disappearing from the festivities altogether... But turning to face his company anew, taking in the small smile playing on his features, he cannot help but think this moment worth it. At least for a little bit, it is nice to pretend that he has been saved from the dreariness that is his life of late.

Before he can thank the other man for it however his breath is stolen from him when his companion speaks up first. "Me?" He asks incredulously. Behind his mask his brows furrow, his gaze averts, his fingers twitch as if to pull away. "Quite the dream..." He mutters. "I'm sorry. I must have been a disappointment. All I did was step on your toes all night."

[secondflame-archive]

I wish that were so, he thinks but doesn't say. Then, he follows easily, still smiling, far more relaxed than he was when the Archduke first entered. It's been a while since they last did this, walking the castle grounds together used to be a regular occurance, but since Clive's duties began to grow in numbers with the years, his free time dwindled into nothingness in turn, adding his father's own duties and time away... Well, there simple hasn't been proper occassion.

By the time they make their way through the gardens and towards the orchard, conversation carrying easily between them, Clive's nerves have finally settled down, but thinking about the evening still serves to put his stomach in knots, the conversation he's had with his mother earlier in the day still echoing in his mind.

Clive's gaze wanders to look at his father. He wonders how many moments like this they would have before he'd be forced to leave. How long does it usually take to be wed? How long til he'd see the castle walls from the outside rather than from the inside?

"I will miss this," he says wistfully, slowing his steps to turn and look up at his home.

The furrow of his father's brow makes him blink, wondering what he has done or said to upset him, only to have his breath shudder out of him in a quiet sigh of relief when his father's hand finds his shoulder. "I pray they don't," he answers honestly, but the corners of his lips quirk upwards, head tilting and shoulders lifting.

"It gives me less opportunity to embarrass myself and by extension you." His gaze flickers off to the side. He'd rather not think of the last time he was forced to dance with one of the other nobles. There had been many a toe stepped on and apparently more than a few social cues missed, leading to a very vexed young lady Clive is unable to meet the eyes of even nowadays.

But when the Duke offers him an out, Clive's previous smile fades once more. Do you not want me there? He almost asks, chest tightening with a near overwhelming ache that has him bite the inside of his cheek. He wouldn't blame him for it. Clive's strengths lay on the battlefield not in the ballroom, but—

His train of thought is cut short and his expression lights up at his father's next words, first in surprise, then in genuine joy that for once even reaches his eyes. "Truly?"

[secondflame-archive]

His heart is pounding with nerves by the time they make it to the dancefloor, he can practically feel his mother's gaze on the back of his head, and when he briefly looks up after they get into position he finds his suspicions confirmed, but not only the Duchess, but also his father and of course his brother have their eyes on him as well, and he doesn't doubt there are quite a few more guests taking an interest in them, too.

"By the Flames..." he mutters under his breath, fighting the urge to run just after the first few tentative steps taken on the floor. But his dance partner's hand is steady where it holds on to his own, not faltering even when Clive's foot clumsily bumps against his in the very first spin. Clive looks down at their feet instinctively, knowing he shouldn't, willing his own to just move in the way he knows they can, he has practiced these steps countless times.

Clive's hand is guided more firmly to his partner's shoulder, the fabric of his jacket silken neath the touch of his nervous fingers. Clive feels himself flush, gaze wavering, eyes briefly straying back to his parents at the words, who he finds have been pulled into conversation by his brother.

That at least makes him breathe easier, until his breathig hitches as a touch alights on his hip and serves to pull his attention back to his partner, a spike in heartbeat following the near intimate touch and the look he is met with.

"No, no, my— the Duchess is just rightfully concerned as you can see." He indicates his clumsiness, brows furrowing behind his mask. A pause and then: " ...Thank you, for putting up with my stumbling." As if on cue, Clive finds himself falter and step on his partner's toes. Again. "Sorry..."

To say he is staring would be an understatement. His eyes hardly leave the man in the white attire, gaze only ever averted when his attention is pulled elsewhere by force. His brother smiling at him with a knowing look on his face that makes Clive even more nervous than he already is, fearing his mother might see the same and find a way to twist a noose out of it.

But still, he cannot keep his eyes from returning to the man in white, even the first bits of music and dancing don't hold his attention long, but when Clive finds himself looking where the man stood before, he finds the spot empty and only when Joshua nudges him again does Clive look up to find the man walk up to them, bowing once again to his parents before offering a hand to him which Clive feels the overwhelming urge to take before the other has even offered out the question.

He hears a sharp, exasperated gasp to his left, knowing it to have originated from the Duchess. He doesn't even dare to turn his head. His gaze finds the floor. His fingers curl into fists by his side, his lips press together in a tight line ere they part to decline.

"You may." Answers a voice not his own and Clive feels one of Joshua's hands push him forward not long after, causing him to stumble into taking the man's hand after all to keep from overbalancing. "My brother would be delighted to dance. Just... be wary of his feet."

Clive's eyes go wide. "Joshua—" He hisses. "I can't—"

"— leave my side. Yes, yes, your duty commands. But I am in no need of a shield right now, Clive. So, go."

Clive knows he should protest more than this, but his hand already tightens on the other man's on instinct. It almost weighs familiar in his hand, its weight and warmth soothing his nerves even when put on the spot like this.

It causes him to turn back to find the stranger's eyes. Up close he can see his eyes are of a striking pale green color, seeming to shimmer unlike anything he has ever seen before.

"I—" He croaks, then clears his throat, his voice now quieter than before. "M-My brother is right, I fear. About my feet lacking a certain... grace." His free hand finds the back of his neck. "I'm really not a skilled dancer. Are you certain—?"

[secondflame-archive]

The second they step outside, Clive feels his chest expand on an easier breath. Away from prying and judgmental eyes and with the chilly air of the night soothing the stubborn flush prevailing on his cheeks he allows himself the first moment of relaxation since this night began.

A notion that is only furthered by the warm hand still gently holding his own, a knee intimately pressing against his. It feels surreal, he doesn't even know this man's name, nor has he seen his face in its entirety. By the Flames if he didn't know better he'd think he stepped into one of the old fairytales he used to read as a child, except Clive was a far cry from the fair maidens getting whisked away from their troubles by a handsome stranger--

He cleared his throat, his own thoughts now serving to embarass him rather than the circumstances themselves, and speaking of, he'd likely have to weather some pointed words from the Duchess later on for disappearing from the festivities altogether... But turning to face his company anew, taking in the small smile playing on his features, he cannot help but think this moment worth it. At least for a little bit, it is nice to pretend that he has been saved from the dreariness that is his life of late.

Before he can thank the other man for it however his breath is stolen from him when his companion speaks up first. "Me?" He asks incredulously. Behind his mask his brows furrow, his gaze averts, his fingers twitch as if to pull away. "Quite the dream..." He mutters. "I'm sorry. I must have been a disappointment. All I did was step on your toes all night."

Breathe, Lord Rosfield.

Yet for the duration of that finger curled under his chin, Clive barely does at all, getting lost in the beautiful pale green that meets him with the stranger's gaze. Words fail him in light of this intimate moment shared and only when the other speaks again does Clive manage a nod in answer.

This time, when they start moving he doesn't let his gaze drop to their feet, resolving to put his trust into this stranger at last. He finds he wishes not to disappoint him most of all, not when he has been nothing but kind and patient with him the entirety time. Once they manage to find their rhythm at last, Clive finds that looking at him is actually easier than purely focussing on the steps they take.

Clive is almost relaxed enough to actually enjoy himself, to have fun and smile at his dance partner as he is suddenly reminded of where he is and what he is doing.

Would that fate would spare him at least one embarrassment this eve... but alas. He ends up with face pushed roughly into the other man's chest, the mask he is wearing digging uncomfortably into his temple, air forced out of his lungs in a startled gasp.

He doesn't have much time to even realize what happened to have him quite literally fall into this situation. A light push at his person and then a gentle touch to his cheek steals his breath away once more, the concern he is met with stirring a deepseated longing to experience more of that gentleness, more of that care.

"I'm fine," he manages, clearing his throat as he right himself. Squaring his shoulders, his gaze immediately shifts to where his parents are still seated, wondering how much if this they saw.

Kind words pull him from his thoughts once more and while there is a part of him that wants to turn this man away and flee, another stronger, stubborn part of him feels the urge to agree. And so he does, although the smile he offers in answer is still somewhat strained with nerves.

"Right now there is nothing I want more."

[secondflame-archive]

He knows of course, what his own mother thinks of him, even without her telling him. After years and years of this she doesn't have to, she never had to. Her usually quiet disdain chaves, her silence and disregard of all he is, of all he has accomplished is enough to have him grit his teeth on any given day, but this, the coldness in her words, in her eyes, it couldn't hurt more if she had plunged a knife into his chest and twisted.

"You have never tolerated anything from me. Perfection or otherwise." His voice is surprisingly even when he says this, although he can feel his hands tremble with the heavy mixture of emotion coursing through his veins. His fingers curl into his palms at his sides, squashing the flicker of fire that tends to surface when something upsets him to a point where his entire being aches. It's been a while since anything she has done resulted in this, it's not anger, not really. It's the by now instinctual use of the Phoenix' blessing trying to heal a pain it cannot reach.

"All I am, all I've become, all I've done has ever been motivated by the wish to serve this family, to serve Rosaria as a whole, to keep Joshua safe, to keep you safe." He squares his shoulders and sets his jaw. His brows furrow, the gaze of his eyes unyielding as it meets his mother's, mirroring her own anger, her own resolve back at her, looking in this moment for all his physical similarities with his father like her son most of all.

"If you'd have me die on the battlefield I will gladly do so. I will readily give my life to protect Joshua, you know this, but I will not help perpetuate this curse that has torn our family apart from the moment he awakened."

It does not escape Clive's notice that the Duchess does not grace him with an answers to his question, instead continueing as if he had not spoken at all. It is frustrating but not uncommon, the norm even where conversations with her are concerned. If they could even be called that when she hardly tolerated any contribution from him at any given time.

The mention of his father has him pause and his expression gets away from him for a moment, gaze snapping up to hers, exasperation and hurt washing over his features ere he manages to rein them back in. The Duke had agreed to this and not thought to talk to Clive about it at all?

Clive blinks, confused, breathing in a little deeper to gather his thoughts. "You'd have me pursue a future wife while there are beastmen at our doorstep and the Northern territories are on the verge of revolt?" None of this makes any sense to him. Is this the true reason behind this farce of a festivity? He had already heard the mumblings of the commonfolk, they weren't pleased with the Duchy for holding a ball without proper seasonal reason.

"Surely my duties as First Shield far outweigh the need for marriage. My place is at Joshua's side." Especially in times of unrest like these. He is tasked to secure his brother's future and not his own. Clive had hardly ever stopped to think that while he wasn't the Phoenix' chosen it would still be considered one of his duties to continue the family line, to ensure the existence of another Phoenix once Joshua was gone.

He feels nauseous at the thought. The Phoenix' blessing did nothing but put strain on his little brother, on their family as a whole and his mother's obsession with it only served to make it worse each day. He wants no part in perpetuating this ... this curse, doesn't want to be the one to inflict it on another generation.

"No," he says. "I will take no part in this."

[secondflame-archive]

Her scrutinizing gaze made Clive's posture stiffen further where he stood glued to the spot opposite her desk. He held her gaze with a slight furrow having formed between his brows. He parted his lips to answer her question, only to be stopped short when she dismissed it with a curt shake of her head, making his mouth click shut immediately once again.

The Duchess' next words made him shuffle his feet and turn his gaze towards the floor. Was this why she called him here? Was she so concerned he would do something to embarrass that she would see the need to address this before the festivities began?

But then, he blinks when her statement fully registers, head snapping up to find her gaze, blue eyes slightly widened in confusion, in shock. "Mother---" He caught himself too late, but fell silent anyway. He had long since stopped calling her this to her face, having found it to only sharpened her words directed towards him whenever he did.

"Your grace," he corrected, his thoughts already reeling. He struggled to find a proper response, too many questions fighting over which would be voiced first, but in the end it's helpless resignation that won out.

"Why... Why was I not told about this prior?"

masquerade ball starter for @creatrix-mea

Roughly an hour until the first guests arive, he thinks as he walks by several servants working to get the last preperations for the ball out of the way. He would love to lend a hand, do something to keep his hands busy and his mind occupied.

However, with his mask held tightly in one hand, his festive attire in place and also already sufficiently uncomfortable as he tends to be before bigger events such as this, Clive instead is forced to make his way through the castle halls towards his mother's study. Her having summoned him on very short notice.

His hair is for once tamed into a somewhat tidied appearance, although it threatens to curl at the the ends, whatever the servants tried to put into it this time to keep it straight failing it's intended purpose like all the others before it.

He breathes deeply, shuffling his feet as he stands infront of the door, jaw clenched, teeth grinding. A nervous knot in the pit of his stomach keeps him from raising his hand to knock. It's never a good sign when the duchess bids him for conversation.

As of late she seems to prefer to act as if he doesn't exist at all, which is an improvement to the open hostility she utilized before. However, it is also all the more reason to be wary of whatever she means to speak to him about now.

At last he raises a hand to knock and then, he waits.

[secondflame-archive]

Clive's own smile matched Dion's in its brightness, his brief bout of embarrassment and even the tension that crept into his shoulders over the course of the evening all but forgotten when he looked at the spark in his friend's eyes. It looked like Dion was just as happy to see him as Clive is. It was a nice change to have someone other than his brother seem genuinely glad to have him near.

He nodded at Dion's words. "More than welcome," he said with an instinctive touch of his hand to one of his shoulders, squeezing it gently. "By the Flames, it's good to see you."

Clive paused to properly take in Dion's appearance, the parts that weren't hidden behind his mask at least. The curl of his smile, the line of his jaw. The angles of his face seemed sharper than they had been during their adolescence, his shoulders broader now than his lankier appearance would have suggested back then, he noted, but then there were those that would say the same of Clive nowadays, so who was he to talk?

How long had it been exactly? The thought brought a sense of guilt with it. Clive knew he should have written more often than he did, should have made an effort to stay in contact proper even when the relationship between their nations grew more strained and visits dwindled into nothing. But he'd always struggled with putting thoughts onto paper, and given how most of his days consistet of countless hours of training with the sword after being named First Shield, Clive felt he never had much to tell anyway. Well, nothing that wouldn't have been utterly depressing to read at least...

The question that followed, clearly well meaning and superficial, still caught him off guard. "It's... ah— Yes, They — We have been well." He cleared his throat, omitting how Joshua's declining health was the reason his naming of Duke was put off for so long, and that his father andother were clearly at odds on how the nation should be led, or how Clive felt ever more removed from his family by the day...

"How about you? What of Sanbreque and your father?"

They kept walking, a little further away from the crowd and it almost felt like back in the old days. Simpler times, when Dion's visits were an almost regular occurance and their friendship an easy, comforting thing. The two young men sharing a bond, an understanding that could only form between two firstborn sons with matching burdens placed upon their shoulders.

Although, Clive thought, only one of them ever really measured up to them...

masquerade ball starter for @equescaeli

Clive had kept to the sidelines all evening, leaving Joshua to do most of the talking, rarely straying from his side for his own comfort's sake rather than his duty as First Shield. His brother knows of course, but doesn't seem to mind nor appear determined to tease him about it, only offering a comforting hand to his shoulder at some point when Clive appears particularly tense.

Sometimes Clive wonders just how much of their relationship is Joshua protecting him rather than the other way around...

The music, and consequently the dancing started about an hour ago, with various pairs having made their way to and from the middle of the room in the meantime. Clive has never been one for dancing, enjoys to watch the pairs twirl rather than doing the twirling himself so to speak.

He is also meant to engage with the conversation Joshua got roped into, at least judging by the nudge of his brother's elbow against his side. Rather than doing so, however he is distracted anew when his gaze strays to the far side of the ballroom where he spots a familiar figure. Of course his face is mostly concealed by the mask he is wearing due to the nature of the event and Clive hasn't seen this man in far too long, but he still recognizes him within seconds, his golden hair and the intricate brooch in the shape of Sanbreque's token flower on his attire a dead giveaway.

It's then that Cllve excuses himself from his brother's side for the first time that evening, making his way towards an old friend. One he hasn't seen in over a decade.

"Dion!" He exclaims once he's within earshot, and immediately regrets the way he raised his voice and the lack of titles used in his excitement when several heads turn his way with matching looks of exasperation. Clive nearly whinces, lips pressing together in embarrassment ere he manages an apologetic smile. He steps closer, lowering his voice even as Dion and him step away from the crowd to talk. "I thought your father declined our invitation." At least Clive had been told as much a while back when letters were first sent out, thinking that Sanbreque would go without a representative for this event. In fact, it's been a while since any ambassadors from the Empire came to visit either, the relationship between Rosaria and Sanbreque a strained one ever since the Empire began to seek to widen their influence beyond their current borders.

[secondflame-archive]

With his cheeks still flushed and his eyes looking anywhere but at his company Clive lead them out of the ballroom and into the hallway. With the sounds of the party slowly softening behind them and away from judgmental eyes the young lord's shoulders began to lose some of the tension lining them and allowed for an easier breath.

"This way," he said, gesturing at a set of stairs leading to the upper floor and private chambers. The way itself was one Clive could find in his sleep, few paths in this castle he had tread quite as often in his life as this one.

It's only when they make it up the flight of stairs and to a quieter hall, barely illuminated by the wall-mounted torches and the moonlight pouring in from the side covered in windows overlooking the courtyard below that Clive at last found the courage to meet his companion's gaze again.

"I truly am sorry." He reiterated his earlier words as they walked on, his voice softer and less panicked now than it had been in the hall. His brows furrowed, blue eyes once again taking in the mess he had made of the man's attire.

"Here," he said as they came to a stop infront of a tall door, the hinges creaking quietly when Clive opened it. The door opened up into what clearly were the chambers of an Archduke's son. A canopy bed sat in the center, windows towering in either side of it, curtains of a dark red color decorating them, the room and it's other furniture wrapped in the tones of Rosaria.

Off to one side there are bookshelves framing another door leading to the bath. It stands open from when Clive had left earlier in a hurry, realizing he was running late. Next to the shelves there is a table overtaken by those books no longer fitting in the shelves, the dark wood furniture overflowing with tomes of old legends, tales of heroes and even several volumes of poetry and ballads. Clive has no talent for music himself, but he still enjoys the verses writ upon these pages.

He gestured to the wardrobe in the back. "Take your pick of my clothes. I will be right back," he told his guest, already making for the adjacent room to look for a towel as he promised.

masquerade ball starter for @sharpnosedscout

There are few things Clive actually enjoys during festivities such as this. Usually he finds them too loud, too crowded and the false pleasantries exchanged make him uncomfortable, for he can see the way near all of these other nobles regard him in the same way his mother does, with disdain. By now it is widely knows that interacting with him would not gain them any favour with the Duchess, so they avoid him like the plague, granted that he's not at his brother's side. The ones that don't shun him are mayhap even worse for the pity in their gaze.

Clive sighs, gaze straying out one of the massive windows of the ballroom, wondering how much longer he'd have to endure this before he could sneak away.

For now he has found a hiding place leaning against a wall on the far side of the room, watching the spectacle, listening to the music. At some point his attention turns entirely to the musicians, captivated by the ease with which they coax beautiful melodies from their instruments. Clive isn't able to carry a tune if his life depended on it, so it always fascinated him to see other's do so with ease.

At some point he locks eyes with a bard just as another song fades out, having watched him work his instrument instead of anything or anyone else for what he realizes must have been a good long while. Embarassed to have been caught staring, Clive starts and looks away, hiding his face in the goblet of wine he'd been nursing over the past hour for lack of anything else to do, only to realize that it is empty.

Acting as if he didn't just try to take a sip from a cup devoid of liquid, he makes his way to get something else, mayhap some water would suit him better, his face feels flushed enough as is.