06-06-2018, 03:43 PM
Looking away was like letting go of a touchstone in a raging storm. The colour and noise flooded back in, and her tolerance for it diminished. Going through the motions to satisfy her obligations suddenly felt like paltry motivation for being here. She knew exactly why she'd let Eleanor talk her into it; for a simple possibility. And she'd just turned away from him.
Because she couldn't run off that cliff edge. Not again.
And he was okay; she saw it with her own eyes.
It was enough.
Quatre choses que vous pouvez toucher.
Four things you can touch, Natalie.
Her attention diffused from her surroundings, uncaring that she stood alone. She pressed a light finger to the stud in her ear; a sixteenth birthday present from her father, the last before he betrayed their family. The pad of her thumb grazed the sharp metal of the fastening. One. But even as the dull pain deepened, the beat of her heart echoed out her chest; a more insistent call.
Only when she looked back up, Jay had gone.
And she realised it wasn't enough; the moment of connection so fleeting she could almost have imagined it.
It wasn't enough.
Her pale gaze cast, and she found him moving through the crowd, his companion left like driftwood in his wake. Better sense eclipsed itself beneath a tide of wilful recklessness; something in the purpose of his stride touching a chord like an echo through time. She slipped her unfinished glass back onto a passing tray, about to follow despite her better judgement, when another blocked her path.
A memory tugged, but it had been many years since she had truly paid mind to world politics, let alone the minutiae of Moscow's elite circles. Though frankly she didn't care which lordling she offended next; even one who'd clearly noticed how long she'd been standing alone, and had taken it upon himself to rescue her.
Though it turned out the chivalry came with a sting.
"And yet I do not recall asking for it."
She did not take the proffered glass, though appeared more curious than offended whilst she absorbed all he had to say. Russian by the accent, and perhaps near an age with her grandfather; dark to his light, but encompassing a similar magnitude of presence. It was only that intensity stopping her walking away without even a second thought to manners.
That and something that felt strangely like deja vu.
"You mean Northbrook, of course."
Her lips flickered the ghost of a smirk, falling short of her eyes. She was under no illusion the slip was anything other than intentional, but if he thought to embarrass her with past family scandal he would be disappointed by the casual way she brushed off the insinuation. The fact her reputation did not lay in complete tatters at her feet was not of her own doing, and she didn't care to keep it clean. He could think what he liked.
She tipped a dismissive shoulder and supplied no answers. Whatever it was he sought to gain, he would not get it. Her father's transgressions were years past, barely relevant to today's politics. Eleanor had no love of the game at all, and Edward spent almost all his time in London. Natalie might be related to a Patron, but it didn't make her a valuable game-piece. She shifted, leaned it, faux conspiratorial. “Rest assured, I was searched quite thoroughly before they let me in. I promise there’s no hidden detonator.”
Her sense of humour cracked dry as bone, and with only the barest hint of a smile as she retreated.
"Alas the champagne has done little to soften the calibre of company so far tonight. If you’ll excuse me."
Because she couldn't run off that cliff edge. Not again.
And he was okay; she saw it with her own eyes.
It was enough.
Quatre choses que vous pouvez toucher.
Four things you can touch, Natalie.
Her attention diffused from her surroundings, uncaring that she stood alone. She pressed a light finger to the stud in her ear; a sixteenth birthday present from her father, the last before he betrayed their family. The pad of her thumb grazed the sharp metal of the fastening. One. But even as the dull pain deepened, the beat of her heart echoed out her chest; a more insistent call.
Only when she looked back up, Jay had gone.
And she realised it wasn't enough; the moment of connection so fleeting she could almost have imagined it.
It wasn't enough.
Her pale gaze cast, and she found him moving through the crowd, his companion left like driftwood in his wake. Better sense eclipsed itself beneath a tide of wilful recklessness; something in the purpose of his stride touching a chord like an echo through time. She slipped her unfinished glass back onto a passing tray, about to follow despite her better judgement, when another blocked her path.
A memory tugged, but it had been many years since she had truly paid mind to world politics, let alone the minutiae of Moscow's elite circles. Though frankly she didn't care which lordling she offended next; even one who'd clearly noticed how long she'd been standing alone, and had taken it upon himself to rescue her.
Though it turned out the chivalry came with a sting.
"And yet I do not recall asking for it."
She did not take the proffered glass, though appeared more curious than offended whilst she absorbed all he had to say. Russian by the accent, and perhaps near an age with her grandfather; dark to his light, but encompassing a similar magnitude of presence. It was only that intensity stopping her walking away without even a second thought to manners.
That and something that felt strangely like deja vu.
"You mean Northbrook, of course."
Her lips flickered the ghost of a smirk, falling short of her eyes. She was under no illusion the slip was anything other than intentional, but if he thought to embarrass her with past family scandal he would be disappointed by the casual way she brushed off the insinuation. The fact her reputation did not lay in complete tatters at her feet was not of her own doing, and she didn't care to keep it clean. He could think what he liked.
She tipped a dismissive shoulder and supplied no answers. Whatever it was he sought to gain, he would not get it. Her father's transgressions were years past, barely relevant to today's politics. Eleanor had no love of the game at all, and Edward spent almost all his time in London. Natalie might be related to a Patron, but it didn't make her a valuable game-piece. She shifted, leaned it, faux conspiratorial. “Rest assured, I was searched quite thoroughly before they let me in. I promise there’s no hidden detonator.”
Her sense of humour cracked dry as bone, and with only the barest hint of a smile as she retreated.
"Alas the champagne has done little to soften the calibre of company so far tonight. If you’ll excuse me."