[Very mysterious, this discovery of a bolt of cloth abandoned — or perhaps left too deliberately to be properly called abandoned — there on her section of the bed. It's fairly obvious where it must have come from and who must have left it there; there are exactly two likely suspects, and something so lavish isn't really Trevor's style.
The intent, probably is that she unwrap the lump and examine the contents, which she will assuredly do in another minute or two. But for the moment she's alone in the bedroom and there's no one to see (unless the castle itself is watching, which technically Alucard has promised it isn't, but one never knows), and so she indulges the whim of unwrapping the bolt a few turns and digging her hands into the fabric.
It's soft. More importantly, it's fine and well-made — a treat, in cloth form. She ducks down and rubs it along her cheek, fingertips ghosting over the woven threads, tracing the patterns and watching the way it pools when she moves it and glitters when the candlelight catches it. It's — a fantasy, almost, in tangible form. Fairy tales so often involve things like this, garments made of fabric woven from gold or silver or stars. It makes her wonder where he found it, and what he could possibly be up to.
...Well. There's always the lump, to investigate.
So carefully, she folds the bolt of cloth back up and turns her attention to the wrapped-up lump, looking for a way to get it open and see what it could be.]
[It's very deliberate. And it is very much left to Sypha to explore the lump, even if the cloth of gold is the easier thing to poke at first. The bolt of fabric is all possibility, all openess. The lump's contents are slightly less open, if only because they have been made already.
Within the lump are five dresses, three on the plainer side of things. Every day dresses, for when speaker robes are to be washed or else a change of pace is needed. The first is a blue, not dissimilar to the blue of speaker robes. The second is a dark, deep green, nearly a forest. The third is a lighter blue, like spring flowers, the sleeves the shortest of three. A thing meant for summer.
The other two are far more sumptuous, all with careful folds and rutching and sleeves that might weight a man down. (The fabric is impossibly light.) One is a light purple, the other a softer green.
The finished dresses are, admittedly, not nearly so instantly eye-catching as the bolt of cloth is, but that's less a criticism of the dresses and more just a reflection of how extra the cloth of gold is, in and of itself. But that doesn't mean she fusses over them any less; each one gets its turn beneath her scrutiny, lifting them up and turning them over to examine the fastenings and the craftsmanship, in part out of wonder and in part from the sheer practicality of, well, she's never actually worn such a thing before, and doesn't precisely know all the ins and outs of how it works.
But she's nothing if not ambitious, and so it happens that the one she ultimately selects is the soft green one, mostly on the principle of "go big or go home". So she re-folds the others and replaces them back in their lump, before tiptoeing over to the door and closing it to ensure against any random passerby seeing what she's doing (there are only two other people in the entire castle but OH WELL) before returning to figure out the trappings of this dress.
There are, unsurprisingly, several false starts, in which she's not entirely sure if she's supposed to step into it or pull it over her head, and where to loosen what cleverly-crafted pieces to get her limbs where they belong before tightening things up again. But eventually she's pretty much worked out the basics, and she wriggles into it carefully to avoid the risk of pulling out any stitching, and she...actually discovers she can't get it properly fastened on her own because she can't reach it but she does the best she can at making it halfway to functional, at least.
And then she looks at herself in the mirror, and the sight nearly bowls her over. She's so used to the Speakers' atmosphere of conformity and androgyny that it's startling to see herself like this — narrow-waisted, long-sleeved, full-skirted, femininity shouted to the world instead of kept under wraps.
She stares at herself awhile, twisting and turning and discovering with pleasure how every movement makes the skirt swish. Then, when she's had her fill of staring, it's off to find Alucard, with her skirts lightly picked up to keep them clear of her feet — and that affords her no small measure of girlish glee in and of itself.]
[Alucard has been keeping an ear out for reactions for most of the afternoon. Trevor's gift is further afield, something that requires more concentration, but the library is close enough to their bedroom (on purpose) that he knows when Sypha's at least gotten to the room.
The delay, he imagines, is because everything still must be tested for size. He's good, but not perfect, and the requirement of secrecy does have the potential to leave something to be desired.
He can refit and readjust. That's easy work once Sypha's decided what changes ought to be made.
When Sypha finds him, he's at the table they've used for castle research and repairs, head down and trying very, very hard to not look up. This is totally casual. Yup. Not just waiting for anyone to come stumbling in.]
[The doorway proves an interesting challenge, itself; she's not quite used to skirts this full, and catches herself checking to make sure she's got clearance to sashay through before coming inside. Curious how she's noticing all these little things she never really thought about before, thanks to the comfort of Speaker robes.
On the other hand, Speaker robes aren't precisely conducive to posing, which is what she's surreptitiously attempting to do once she's through the door — just what she'd done in the mirror in the bedroom, a slight angle to the side, shoulders back, chin raised just a touch to elongate her neck, skirt billowed out all around her legs, and arms...
Okay, she didn't really figure out the arms very well, but bent slightly at the elbow is probably better than just straight down at her sides, at least.]
[He looks up at the ahem, trying to hide the smile on his face. The time delay is for the exact reason he thought it might be, and God.
There's a very quiet, perfect moment where Alucard just sits there, chin in hand, looking beyond dazzled at Sypha. He does it a lot to them both, because that's just what he does, but in this moment there's far more weight to it. The gravity is known only to himself for the time being, but that's just fine.
Maybe she's started to learn his flare for the dramatic too. Because that's what that pose is, and after looking, he is on his feet to greet her properly.]
I was hoping you'd get to the bedroom earlier rather than later today.
Imagine my surprise, when I found something on the bed that wasn't there before! Astonishing, really...
[It's difficult to play coy, though, when he looks at her like that, which means the lofty act and innocent affect are a little bit spoiled by the blush that heats her cheeks. Still, she holds the pose until he gets nearer to her, and only then does a half-turn to reveal the semi-disarray of the fastenings she wasn't quite able to do herself.]
[He grins, a little too cheeky, but crouches down to help with back. He thought that this was simplified enough to be done by oneself, but more fool him. It is complicated, and that's only apparent now with Sypha actually wearing the dress.
Still, it takes no time at all to fix everything properly, and it gives the skirt of the dress just enough clearance so that Sypha doesn't have to hold it any time she needs to move.]
[She wriggles around a little, testing the new fit now that he's gotten her settled, and — oh, yes, that's much better. And all the more impressive for it, considering he's pulled it off this well without ever letting on, much less having her actually do a proper fitting.]
I think this is perhaps the most impractical thing I have ever worn. It's only good for looking beautiful.
[Oh. Oh, right, his arm. Not just for hugging, but for — aha. This is absolutely stupid and ridiculous and fantastical and true, she wouldn't want to do this every day, but just this once, and just for fun? Amazing.
So she takes his arm, a little too delicately at first because she's imitating pictures and emulating stories, but quickly discovers she's got to be a little more solid than that and readjusts.]
[He tries not to laugh at that um. Manages, even, although his smile flickers closer to a laugh for just that moment. This isn't terribly over the top to him, but...well, the rest is the important part.
Alcuard moves them both over to the sofa, careful as anything, because it is clear that Sypha's adjusting and he'll not rush that forward.]
I think it's more interesting if I'm not. If I'm just myself.
Just yourself is the best of all. Then I am just me, too.
[She's also getting better at moving around with every step, having discovered that smaller, quicker steps are more conducive to keeping her skirt from going everywhere than a long stride that would risk kicking it around and tangling it.]
[He sits first. It's only because there is a sneaking suspicion that if walking is a learning experience, then sitting? Sitting is about to be an adventure, and he wants the most comfort possible before this conversation continues.]
[And thus Sypha learns firsthand through trial and error, the necessary art of "how to get a skirt tucked so you can bend at the knees and sit on a thing", which possibly crumples it in the back once or twice before she susses it out, but at least in short order, she's seated.]
This is so complicated! But I suppose that's what I get for choosing the fancy one...
[Alucard has the good grace not to laugh at any of this. But he doesn't stop smiling, and he does offer his arm once or twice when he feels it's needed.]
You...really did pick the most ornate one, didn't you?
[She says, as she leans into him and figures out how to get her legs up onto the sofa, bent at the knees and still blanketed under her skirt so she's curled catlike against him, and almost certainly draws attention to it specifically so that now he'll be trapped thinking about it this whole time.]
[But he would dare to kiss the top of her head several times over, both arms wrapping around her waist gently. A few moments of gentle quiet.
Fuck. She's beautiful like this. Always has been. Always will be. But being curled up like this feels like the first time they found themselves like this in the library, and that second first time feeling never happens.
[He's got his arms around her, yes, but hers are free, and with the way she's angled into him, it's not at all difficult to shift her arm around and lightly walk her index and middle fingers up his chest.]
[That's unfair, Sypha. But he kisses the top of her head to re-center, and then keeps going.]
There's little point in assuming that the way things are will change between the three of us. [They've been rocky steady as anything since the two came back to the castle for the very first time.] And if we did not live outside of any law of our own, I would worry about the feasibility of anything I am about to say, for no church or court would grant us this one thing.
[He's gentle as he keeps speaking. Confident, but only just so.]
I'd like to solemnize what is already here. If only between us three. If only for our own pleasure and joy of it. I cannot do that without the two of you in agreement.
[That is a lot of roundabout words to sift through and reorganize in order to more clearly see the meaning in the midst of them, but fortunately she is a Speaker and words are what she Does and so it's sooner rather than later that the recognition sinks in.]
...Alucard.
[That's worthy of lifting her head up to look him in the eyes.]
Did you trick me into a fancy dress just so that I would look nice when you asked me to marry you?
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The intent, probably is that she unwrap the lump and examine the contents, which she will assuredly do in another minute or two. But for the moment she's alone in the bedroom and there's no one to see (unless the castle itself is watching, which technically Alucard has promised it isn't, but one never knows), and so she indulges the whim of unwrapping the bolt a few turns and digging her hands into the fabric.
It's soft. More importantly, it's fine and well-made — a treat, in cloth form. She ducks down and rubs it along her cheek, fingertips ghosting over the woven threads, tracing the patterns and watching the way it pools when she moves it and glitters when the candlelight catches it. It's — a fantasy, almost, in tangible form. Fairy tales so often involve things like this, garments made of fabric woven from gold or silver or stars. It makes her wonder where he found it, and what he could possibly be up to.
...Well. There's always the lump, to investigate.
So carefully, she folds the bolt of cloth back up and turns her attention to the wrapped-up lump, looking for a way to get it open and see what it could be.]
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Within the lump are five dresses, three on the plainer side of things. Every day dresses, for when speaker robes are to be washed or else a change of pace is needed. The first is a blue, not dissimilar to the blue of speaker robes. The second is a dark, deep green, nearly a forest. The third is a lighter blue, like spring flowers, the sleeves the shortest of three. A thing meant for summer.
The other two are far more sumptuous, all with careful folds and rutching and sleeves that might weight a man down. (The fabric is impossibly light.) One is a light purple, the other a softer green.
There's no note. No explanation. Nothing at all.]
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The finished dresses are, admittedly, not nearly so instantly eye-catching as the bolt of cloth is, but that's less a criticism of the dresses and more just a reflection of how extra the cloth of gold is, in and of itself. But that doesn't mean she fusses over them any less; each one gets its turn beneath her scrutiny, lifting them up and turning them over to examine the fastenings and the craftsmanship, in part out of wonder and in part from the sheer practicality of, well, she's never actually worn such a thing before, and doesn't precisely know all the ins and outs of how it works.
But she's nothing if not ambitious, and so it happens that the one she ultimately selects is the soft green one, mostly on the principle of "go big or go home". So she re-folds the others and replaces them back in their lump, before tiptoeing over to the door and closing it to ensure against any random passerby seeing what she's doing (there are only two other people in the entire castle but OH WELL) before returning to figure out the trappings of this dress.
There are, unsurprisingly, several false starts, in which she's not entirely sure if she's supposed to step into it or pull it over her head, and where to loosen what cleverly-crafted pieces to get her limbs where they belong before tightening things up again. But eventually she's pretty much worked out the basics, and she wriggles into it carefully to avoid the risk of pulling out any stitching, and she...actually discovers she can't get it properly fastened on her own because she can't reach it but she does the best she can at making it halfway to functional, at least.
And then she looks at herself in the mirror, and the sight nearly bowls her over. She's so used to the Speakers' atmosphere of conformity and androgyny that it's startling to see herself like this — narrow-waisted, long-sleeved, full-skirted, femininity shouted to the world instead of kept under wraps.
She stares at herself awhile, twisting and turning and discovering with pleasure how every movement makes the skirt swish. Then, when she's had her fill of staring, it's off to find Alucard, with her skirts lightly picked up to keep them clear of her feet — and that affords her no small measure of girlish glee in and of itself.]
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The delay, he imagines, is because everything still must be tested for size. He's good, but not perfect, and the requirement of secrecy does have the potential to leave something to be desired.
He can refit and readjust. That's easy work once Sypha's decided what changes ought to be made.
When Sypha finds him, he's at the table they've used for castle research and repairs, head down and trying very, very hard to not look up. This is totally casual. Yup. Not just waiting for anyone to come stumbling in.]
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Ahem.
[The doorway proves an interesting challenge, itself; she's not quite used to skirts this full, and catches herself checking to make sure she's got clearance to sashay through before coming inside. Curious how she's noticing all these little things she never really thought about before, thanks to the comfort of Speaker robes.
On the other hand, Speaker robes aren't precisely conducive to posing, which is what she's surreptitiously attempting to do once she's through the door — just what she'd done in the mirror in the bedroom, a slight angle to the side, shoulders back, chin raised just a touch to elongate her neck, skirt billowed out all around her legs, and arms...
Okay, she didn't really figure out the arms very well, but bent slightly at the elbow is probably better than just straight down at her sides, at least.]
Hello, Alucard.
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There's a very quiet, perfect moment where Alucard just sits there, chin in hand, looking beyond dazzled at Sypha. He does it a lot to them both, because that's just what he does, but in this moment there's far more weight to it. The gravity is known only to himself for the time being, but that's just fine.
Maybe she's started to learn his flare for the dramatic too. Because that's what that pose is, and after looking, he is on his feet to greet her properly.]
I was hoping you'd get to the bedroom earlier rather than later today.
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[It's difficult to play coy, though, when he looks at her like that, which means the lofty act and innocent affect are a little bit spoiled by the blush that heats her cheeks. Still, she holds the pose until he gets nearer to her, and only then does a half-turn to reveal the semi-disarray of the fastenings she wasn't quite able to do herself.]
Fix me, please. I did my best.
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[He grins, a little too cheeky, but crouches down to help with back. He thought that this was simplified enough to be done by oneself, but more fool him. It is complicated, and that's only apparent now with Sypha actually wearing the dress.
Still, it takes no time at all to fix everything properly, and it gives the skirt of the dress just enough clearance so that Sypha doesn't have to hold it any time she needs to move.]
There. I hope the color choices were appropriate?
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[She wriggles around a little, testing the new fit now that he's gotten her settled, and — oh, yes, that's much better. And all the more impressive for it, considering he's pulled it off this well without ever letting on, much less having her actually do a proper fitting.]
I think this is perhaps the most impractical thing I have ever worn. It's only good for looking beautiful.
[Oh, here it comes.]
So. Do I?
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[He smiles, offering Sypha his arm to take. If this is going to be done properly, the he must do everything right.]
You do. [He smiles, all too bright, all too beaming, entirely adoring.] You always do, but in a new way today.
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[Oh. Oh, right, his arm. Not just for hugging, but for — aha. This is absolutely stupid and ridiculous and fantastical and true, she wouldn't want to do this every day, but just this once, and just for fun? Amazing.
So she takes his arm, a little too delicately at first because she's imitating pictures and emulating stories, but quickly discovers she's got to be a little more solid than that and readjusts.]
There. Does this make you my handsome prince?
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Alcuard moves them both over to the sofa, careful as anything, because it is clear that Sypha's adjusting and he'll not rush that forward.]
I think it's more interesting if I'm not. If I'm just myself.
[That smile is still there.]
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[She's also getting better at moving around with every step, having discovered that smaller, quicker steps are more conducive to keeping her skirt from going everywhere than a long stride that would risk kicking it around and tangling it.]
...Still handsome, though.
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[He sits first. It's only because there is a sneaking suspicion that if walking is a learning experience, then sitting? Sitting is about to be an adventure, and he wants the most comfort possible before this conversation continues.]
Come here.
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[Be careful, Alucard. Don't tempt her; every part of her expression suggests that she'll absolutely do it.]
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Let's try getting comfortable first, hm?
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[And thus Sypha learns firsthand through trial and error, the necessary art of "how to get a skirt tucked so you can bend at the knees and sit on a thing", which possibly crumples it in the back once or twice before she susses it out, but at least in short order, she's seated.]
This is so complicated! But I suppose that's what I get for choosing the fancy one...
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You...really did pick the most ornate one, didn't you?
[Well, all the better for it, he supposes.]
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[Since it took the most work, presumably.]
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[God, he's practically glowing. And trying not to rush things along, but oh. Oh he wants to rush headlong into this.
Alucard knows restraint though. So for the time being all he does is wrap an arm around Sypha's shoulder and pulls her closer.]
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[She says, as she leans into him and figures out how to get her legs up onto the sofa, bent at the knees and still blanketed under her skirt so she's curled catlike against him, and almost certainly draws attention to it specifically so that now he'll be trapped thinking about it this whole time.]
This is very nice. I like this.
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[But he would dare to kiss the top of her head several times over, both arms wrapping around her waist gently. A few moments of gentle quiet.
Fuck. She's beautiful like this. Always has been. Always will be. But being curled up like this feels like the first time they found themselves like this in the library, and that second first time feeling never happens.
Now, then.]
I've been thinking.
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[He's got his arms around her, yes, but hers are free, and with the way she's angled into him, it's not at all difficult to shift her arm around and lightly walk her index and middle fingers up his chest.]
And what have you been thinking about?
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[That's unfair, Sypha. But he kisses the top of her head to re-center, and then keeps going.]
There's little point in assuming that the way things are will change between the three of us. [They've been rocky steady as anything since the two came back to the castle for the very first time.] And if we did not live outside of any law of our own, I would worry about the feasibility of anything I am about to say, for no church or court would grant us this one thing.
[He's gentle as he keeps speaking. Confident, but only just so.]
I'd like to solemnize what is already here. If only between us three. If only for our own pleasure and joy of it. I cannot do that without the two of you in agreement.
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[That is a lot of roundabout words to sift through and reorganize in order to more clearly see the meaning in the midst of them, but fortunately she is a Speaker and words are what she Does and so it's sooner rather than later that the recognition sinks in.]
...Alucard.
[That's worthy of lifting her head up to look him in the eyes.]
Did you trick me into a fancy dress just so that I would look nice when you asked me to marry you?
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