"It's fine. I've been accused of not getting out enough, so I suppose I deserve the discomfort." Caius grinned lopsidedly, dismissing his anger with a huff of warm breath and a shake of his head. Perhaps this party wasn't the best place to be seen at, however, full of students who knew the blonde Venora's escort for who he was, but did he really sarding care? No.
Social convention was just that, and the way things were currently structured left much to be desired for the northern noble,
"Besides, all that pretense was worthwhile." His tone was blatantly coy, the most flirtatious he'd been in her company with a direct complement and an equally curious glance over her person in their proximity. As aware of how she looked at him as he was that they most likely had a silent audience, he contented himself with his hand over hers despite the temptations to make his interests even more obvious. He was not about to give anyone at this sarding party the consolation of such a prized story—by the Fates, no.
Instead, he asked his more pointed questions, curious but not accusatory. He'd had professors in the Arts blatantly admit they did their best work under the influence of various substances. It was an acceptable form of experimentation for creatives. He was more than content to drown his social disdain in so much alcohol had he been given the chance—who was he to judge? The difference, he supposed, was when entertainment became dependence, when someone surrendered their entire self to something so potentially destructive. The results of actual addiction were universal—the ravages of such things could be found across all classes, all education levels, even those touched by the Spark of magic or marked by an Immortal weren't necessarily immune. It was when someone lost their direction and themselves that things became a problem.
Caius was ignorant of Darcy's path and personal history, and so his question was more teasing than anything else. He simply assumed the more optimistic of directions, and when she talked about how playing under the influence made her feel that much more connected, well, he thought he understood,
"So, it's inspirational‚ so to speak. The not enough part, I get that. Sort of. It's harder for me to explain, though." He chuckled, watching the shift in her gaze and feeling the weight of her body against his. He didn't have a comparison—newness, revelation, knowledge were his drugs of choice and the visual arts were his way of processing them. He could be consumed by a need to know something and forget himself in the text, in the story, obsessing over a single question until he found the answer, until he exhausted all resources hunting it down. No matter how much he tried to play it down with rebellion, he was still very much a Gawyne.
The blonde's closeness tempted him with wordless questions, and for a moment he considered looking for those answers in the chilled darkness of the Tulburn garden, but laughter from near the fire pit felt like a book slammed shut and he blinked, brought back to his resolve to keep such improper gossip from the eyes of those who didn't deserve it.
Darcy was moving, tugging on his hand for him to follow before she let go and staggered further into the well-maintained lawns that were outside of the ruddy glow of torches and lanterns. It was easy to keep up with her, and he was confused when she stopped at the edge of dark water. She'd obviously been here before, to the estate, for other parties and piano playing and whatever else. His eyes widened at the unexpected lights that sprayed and danced when she tossed a rock into the black liquid, and he listened when she explained,
"So, you've been here often, then? Lady Tulburn's a regular ... patron of your talents." The young Gawyne wasn't entirely sure how to define things, but that seemed close enough. For, as far as he was concerned, she was a talented pianist. Everything else was, well, someone else's business. He toed the darkness with his boot to find a rock or two, tossing them in the water for his own curiosity while she spoke, watching the bioluminescent creatures announce their annoyance with their soft blue glow,
"Are you calling me your friend, Lady Venora?"
He didn't look at her, but he was smiling,
"A stranger in the dark and now friends? I find it hard to believe you don't have any besides myself." Caius' voice was self-deprecating instead of rude, quiet and with soft edges compared to how he normally spoke. He answered her, though, in his own way, willing to admit that indeed, he had no objections to their friendship,
"My sister was influential in my childhood, as well, but for far different reasons by the sounds of things. No one deserves to be alone, though. It's sarding easy for people to just not care. "
He tossed his last rock and looked at her when she said he'd been more than kind, when she said she'd wanted someone to talk to. The young Gawyne had friends and talked too much, usually calloused and rude, but he did consider himself the kind of person who stopped to look more than most, too curious for his own good, easily caught up in the pursuit of knowing something he previously didn't know.
"I saw you. I stopped because no one else sarding would, it's true. I think I see you now, but not everything. I'm still looking." Caius smirked, aware of the potential for double meaning that could be construed from both his words and his tone, stepping closer again and realizing he wasn't entirely sure what to do with his hands. He reached up and ran one through his hair, ink-stained fingers curling knuckles against his scalp for a moment, watching her quietly. Toying again with the scab on his lip, he sighed,
"I don't have a problem with being alone sometimes, but instead I have a problem chasing things I want to know. You, Darcy, have my attention, and I'm sorry no one wants to explore past the surface of who they may think you are."
He smiled back at her, breaking eye contact for a moment to cast a sidelong glance at the cold, dark water while she laughed, her invitation burning in his ears. On the surface, somewhat opposite of the pond, she seemed capable of acting bright and happy but it was clear she was, underneath the surface, dark and listless, dissatisfied, and by the melodies she played from her own heart, sad. The young Gawyne found the conflict in what he saw on the surface and what he had glimpses of underneath curious, enticing. Her tarnished House mattered little, but that she knew the dangers of the choices she made and continued to walk home alone somehow caught his attention, stirred something protective and forthright in him that he didn't usually feel.
He liked those feelings, and, for whatever combination of reasons, he liked her.
"Oh yeah? I bet it's quite a sight—"
The way those particular words left his mouth in a heated breath could have meant anything, but at the same time, not a syllable sounded as if he cared about the lake or the glow the creatures that lived in it gave off,
"Swim? You know that Vhalar in Andaris is like summer in Gawyne, right? Sarding hot despite the snow. Or something like that. I've lived in Viden, I'll have you know—that pond can't be that sarding cold. I'd give it a go, just to spite your hostess—"
Caius taunted, his hands moving toward the buttons of his surcoat as if he was taking her invitation seriously, but he paused and glanced back toward the well lit house across the lawn, a lopsided but equally devious grin creasing its way into his aquiline features in the darkness. He was far more sober and yet just as willing, the mischievous glint in his amber gaze bright like the fire that now raced in his already heated veins. His laugh was awkward, conspiratory, and far too revealing of things unspoken between them without concern for the consequences of such admission. He blinked, though, serious for several too warm, too close heartbeats, the young Gawyne holding her gaze even as he was very seriously working ink-stained fingers over well-polished buttons,
"—but I feel the need to admit first that I'm not sure I'm as kind nor as trustworthy of a friend as I should be because I'm pretty confident my desire for your company isn't entirely platonic in nature." Caius was honest indeed, expression bordering on the stupid, all sarcasm drained from his tone just like his energy for social interaction. He heard the sound of his own pulse above his quiet words, swallowing hard in efforts to summon the necessary humor to follow up his admission, for there was nothing about his next words that was at all considerate so much as entirely suggestive,
"You know, before we start taking any clothes off, I thought I should be a good Lord and put that out there. For your consideration, my Lady."
