open rp post

[troubleyan]

🏹 texts/epistolary 🏹 prompts 🏹 ota*

* pssst if we've threaded together on bakerstreet, consider this an open invite

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[firstbornstorm]

He grinned at her, swallowing a chuckle, then lifted his chin slightly, preening under her gaze. Oh, he knew he looked good; the scarlet and gold uniform fit him like a second skin, exactly as he'd insisted. Though it had come to blows between him and Qotho during the fitting; his second and best friend had found no end of amusement and entertainment watching his khal stand in the middle of the room and be wrapped in such ridiculous garb. It hadn't helped that the damned Herald of Andraste had been sitting beside the Dothraki bloodrider trying to stifle her chuckles and failing miserably.

The entire interlude had ended in true Dothraki fashion: with Daemon and Qotho rolling about amid the pincushions, loose fabric, and overturned furniture trying their hardest to pummel each other comatose. Thankfully Josephine had managed to intervene before any lasting damage had been done, save, perhaps, to the poor tailor's heart (the man had had to go for a stiff drink and a lie down afterwards, to calm his scattered nerves).

But the end result was worth it; his uniform jacket held enough hidden weapons that it was a miracle he didn't clank when he walked. Because no way in hell was he going to set even a foot into this crowd without at least five small knives. The rest were stored away with their armor, hidden safely out of sight.

And the rogue did snort an involuntary laugh at Evelyn's comment, giving his ponytail a saucy flip. "Thought it might save me time and these poor, desolate gals a bit of embarrassment," he teased, stepping up beside her to lean his arms on the balustrade. A derisive noise followed. "I have better things to do than say 'no' to every noblewoman who jiggles in my direction."

sob - I'm sorry for the delayyyy

[troubleyan]

"Not every noblewoman," she jokes back, seeking out some comfort in the quiet way she gets to nudge her shoulder against his.

She is technically nobility, of course he knows this. But she still wants to find some of those jiggly women and glare at them - please, as if she has any ownership over Daemon. Or rather, as if she has a right to be possessive.

"Here I was going to ask if you'd come to ask me to dance."

She nods towards the courtyard directly below them, where the guests of this ball conspire in broad nightlight, trading gossips and barbs.

"I caught wind of the Empress hiding something in her quarters. Do you think we can discreetly make out way there?"