Well, this one got away from me. o_o The idea got in my head and snowballed, hahah.
Never let it be said that Al-Cid was a late bloomer, in any sense of the word. From a young age, he had learned his responsibilities as a son of his house, the assessment of the many possibilities that lay before him - and as well, he had come to learn his own inclinations. A formal masquerade ball attended by the nobles of many of the nations and factions of Ivalice, an attempt to grow a sense of camaraderie rather than competition, was in a sense a nexus of all three; a chance to prove himself worthy in pursuit of the most desired possibilities, and an opportunity to... indulge some of those inclinations.
As only a minor among House Margrace, still of an age that none were as of yet appraising his potential to rise to prominence, few paid much attention to his doings as he moved about the crowd, his wandering eyes all but hidden behind a pale mask overlaid with a fine silver and gold filigree, a spray of white feathers crowning. Indeed, few likely could have told him apart from his brothers in such dress - but for his mannerisms and his courtesy, which he was pleased to bestow upon many a young woman in attendance. Not one to play favorites - not yet - he shared no more than a bit of conversation and the space of a dance with each, then took his leave with a respectful bow. It was good, he thought, to leave as many options open as he was able.
He had just bid farewell to another dance partner and was intending to pause for a drink - so much chatting and dancing over the course of the warm summer evening had left him somewhat parched - when he saw her among the tables. Tall, perhaps as tall as himself, with long dark hair cascading over her shoulders in casual curls, for her back was turned. Atop those lovely locks, presumably rising upward from her own mask, were a pair of dark horns, matching the protrusions from the ornate shoulder pieces on the garment she wore.
The very picture of temptation, Al-Cid imagined. He picked up a glass and sipped at some cider, eyeing her over the rim. He hadn't the slightest idea who the young woman might be, but he very much wanted to run his hands through those curls, let his fingers become entangled...
But first, the game must be played. She seemed to be doing no more than having a drink herself, and so Al-Cid stepped around the table between them, setting his empty glass aside as he passed. "If I may beg your pardon," he began, and she turned, revealing a firm yet graceful mouth and a sharp chin - all Al-Cid could see beyond the horned black mask that covered her face from nose to hairline. More handsome than pretty, Al-Cid thought, but nonetheless fascinating. He bowed, taking her gloved hand to bring it to his lips and kiss lightly. "Might I ask the name by which I may call such beauty?"
There was no immediate response, whether the giggle of delight Al-Cid so often received or an answer, and so he looked up. He found those fine lips smirking before they parted in response. "Vayne Carudas Solidor," replied a deeper voice than he had expected, if still young. "Third son of Emperor Gramis of Archadia. And you are...?"
Al-Cid was very relieved for his own mask at that moment; it covered the widening of his eyes and the rise of his eyebrows. Also the faint blush of warmth he could feel in his cheeks as he realized that indeed - the "young woman" before him wore trousers rather than an elaborate gown like to those worn by most of the ladies, and his eyes had simply not looked away from the fascinating hair and face before he had spoken. This was, by far, the largest blunder he had made in a state setting to this point...
And although he almost began to apologize, it occurred to him that perhaps he need not do so. "Al-Cid Margrace," he replied, relinquishing the other young man's hand and straightening again. "Considering the conflict between our nations, perhaps it is fortunate that I am but one of many, and you a third son, lest our meeting be considered of great import."
"And your mistake be considered Rozarria's insult to Archadia?" Still Vayne smirked behind his mask.
"I cannot see why it should be considered an insult at all," Al-Cid replied easily. "Here in my homeland, it is a compliment to be found beautiful, whether male or female."
"I suppose it is." Though the mask largely hid Vayne's expression, he did pause to regard Al-Cid for a moment. "And so you do not intend to retract your remarks?"
"I would never go back on my word, nor willingly speak an untruth," Al-Cid stated, with a smirk of his own. "If I have said something, then it is said."
Vayne laughed quietly. It was very much the response Al-Cid had been hoping for. "You are... interesting, Al-Cid Margrace," Vayne observed. "And your charm considerable. I expect it will serve you well."
"And I will take that as a compliment."
Vayne's smirk now appeared more an honest smile. "As it was intended."
When Al-Cid offered his hand again, Vayne hesitated a moment, then shook firmly. "Perhaps, as the circumstances of our births permit us to go unnoticed - we might, indeed, go unnoticed."
It might have been Al-Cid's imagination, the way Vayne's gloved hand seemed to linger, sliding along his own as he withdrew. Or... it might not. "Are you not enjoying yourself?"
"I seldom enjoy such affairs, but they do occasionally present useful opportunities. I'm certain you understand."
"All too well," Al-Cid agreed with a nod.
Vayne still held his own glass in the left hand, and drained it before setting it aside. "The drinks, if nothing else, are exquisite," he added. "But this ball has otherwise been quite dry, until your approach made it more amusing."
"Then I am glad to have done so," Al-Cid told him, with a slight bow. And if he was reading Vayne correctly... "If leaving this assembly is what you wish, then it would be my pleasure to further amuse you."
Vayne lifted a hand, gesturing in the direction of one of the great archways at the end of the ballroom, with the darkness of night visible beyond. "Very well - shall we?"
It was indeed quite dark in the ornamental garden outside in spite of the season; the ball had begun before dusk, but already had lasted for hours. And perhaps because of the season, once they were far enough out among the maze of perfectly trimmed hedges that the chatter and music of the ball had faded, Vayne reached to his throat, loosening the collar of the ornate jacket he wore. "Forgive me if I offend," he remarked, "but seldom do we experience such heat in Archades. I feel I may be somewhat overdressed."
An interesting suggestion. "I am certain that I am," Al-Cid agreed, doing likewise. "Though I am accustomed to the heat. When not hosting formal events for international visitors, Rozarrians tend to wear considerably less."
Another low chuckle from Vayne. "Though I believe we've already established that our conversation has no bearing on the relations between our homelands, I would ask, lest I insult you personally - I know that you said you would not go back on your word. Do you still stand behind it...?"
Much as Al-Cid had suspected - and in a sense, hoped, for Vayne was graceful, well-spoken... intriguing. "I do," he said with a nod. "I am capable of appreciating beauty in both women and men." He suspected he did not need to ask.
And he was correct. "In that case," Vayne said, stopping where he was on the path to turn to Al-Cid, "I will suggest you wear as little as makes you comfortable in my presence."
"Hmmm..." Al-Cid smiled. Already he was accomplished at reading opportunities, and this seemed to be a particularly entertaining one. "And you are welcome to remove as much clothing as you wish."
"My own...?" Vayne inquired, sounding almost innocent. "Or yours?"
That was a very, very clever line, Vayne's delivery of it impeccable, and Al-Cid was not sure he could think of a better answer than to take Vayne by the hand and pull him through a gap in the hedges, leading him away from the walking path and further along the wall of the palace, where few would have reason to wander on such a night of celebration. Behind him, he heard Vayne laugh again, this time a bit louder.
The laughter ceased, however, when Al-Cid came to a shadowy corner beyond a protruding tower, and pressed Vayne up against the wall, covering Vayne's lips with his own. An approving hum came from Vayne's throat, and at last, Al-Cid's fingers could stroke through those coveted curls.
After a moment of simply enjoying what may have been the most passionate kiss Al-Cid had experienced to date, he suddenly found himself against the wall, Vayne pinning him, a knee between his thighs. He could not quite keep himself from moaning quietly when Vayne drew back. "You never answered my question," Vayne reminded him, "about the removal of clothing."
"Hah..." Al-Cid grinned. "Whatever you do not remove... I will see to."
"That seems a fair arrangement," Vayne murmured, before leaning in to nearly smother him with another kiss as hot and damp as the night air. "But one suggestion," he added as an afterthought. "To keep this interesting... why not keep the masks on?"
"I cannot imagine how this could become uninteresting," Al-Cid panted. "Yet it is a masquerade..."
"Precisely," Vayne stated. "A bit of fun - of no lasting consequence."
And it was by far the most memorable masquerade Al-Cid had attended thus far - a distinction that would hold for the rest of his life.
-----
Yet only a few years later, Al-Cid had the chance to see Vayne Solidor again, and under very different circumstances. An envoy was sent to Archades in hopes of negotiating a treaty - and quietly investigating the rumors regarding the demise of Emperor Gramis's two eldest sons. Given the nature of the rumors, Al-Cid opted not to give his name, nor to remove his dark glasses when the party was ushered in to meet with the Archadian Empire's representatives.
It was the first time he had seen Vayne's face unmasked, looked him in the eye from behind his own dubious camouflage - and what he saw there told him that the rumors were true. The way Vayne's cold eyes lingered, the hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth, suggested that he was recognized - and it made Al-Cid's blood run cold. All the more so as Vayne simply moved on, saying nothing, and made no attempt to speak with him for the duration of the visit.
For after all, that night truly had been a night of no consequence.
Al-Cid/Vayne, "Of No Consequence", T/PG-13ish
Never let it be said that Al-Cid was a late bloomer, in any sense of the word. From a young age, he had learned his responsibilities as a son of his house, the assessment of the many possibilities that lay before him - and as well, he had come to learn his own inclinations. A formal masquerade ball attended by the nobles of many of the nations and factions of Ivalice, an attempt to grow a sense of camaraderie rather than competition, was in a sense a nexus of all three; a chance to prove himself worthy in pursuit of the most desired possibilities, and an opportunity to... indulge some of those inclinations.
As only a minor among House Margrace, still of an age that none were as of yet appraising his potential to rise to prominence, few paid much attention to his doings as he moved about the crowd, his wandering eyes all but hidden behind a pale mask overlaid with a fine silver and gold filigree, a spray of white feathers crowning. Indeed, few likely could have told him apart from his brothers in such dress - but for his mannerisms and his courtesy, which he was pleased to bestow upon many a young woman in attendance. Not one to play favorites - not yet - he shared no more than a bit of conversation and the space of a dance with each, then took his leave with a respectful bow. It was good, he thought, to leave as many options open as he was able.
He had just bid farewell to another dance partner and was intending to pause for a drink - so much chatting and dancing over the course of the warm summer evening had left him somewhat parched - when he saw her among the tables. Tall, perhaps as tall as himself, with long dark hair cascading over her shoulders in casual curls, for her back was turned. Atop those lovely locks, presumably rising upward from her own mask, were a pair of dark horns, matching the protrusions from the ornate shoulder pieces on the garment she wore.
The very picture of temptation, Al-Cid imagined. He picked up a glass and sipped at some cider, eyeing her over the rim. He hadn't the slightest idea who the young woman might be, but he very much wanted to run his hands through those curls, let his fingers become entangled...
But first, the game must be played. She seemed to be doing no more than having a drink herself, and so Al-Cid stepped around the table between them, setting his empty glass aside as he passed. "If I may beg your pardon," he began, and she turned, revealing a firm yet graceful mouth and a sharp chin - all Al-Cid could see beyond the horned black mask that covered her face from nose to hairline. More handsome than pretty, Al-Cid thought, but nonetheless fascinating. He bowed, taking her gloved hand to bring it to his lips and kiss lightly. "Might I ask the name by which I may call such beauty?"
There was no immediate response, whether the giggle of delight Al-Cid so often received or an answer, and so he looked up. He found those fine lips smirking before they parted in response. "Vayne Carudas Solidor," replied a deeper voice than he had expected, if still young. "Third son of Emperor Gramis of Archadia. And you are...?"
Al-Cid was very relieved for his own mask at that moment; it covered the widening of his eyes and the rise of his eyebrows. Also the faint blush of warmth he could feel in his cheeks as he realized that indeed - the "young woman" before him wore trousers rather than an elaborate gown like to those worn by most of the ladies, and his eyes had simply not looked away from the fascinating hair and face before he had spoken. This was, by far, the largest blunder he had made in a state setting to this point...
And although he almost began to apologize, it occurred to him that perhaps he need not do so. "Al-Cid Margrace," he replied, relinquishing the other young man's hand and straightening again. "Considering the conflict between our nations, perhaps it is fortunate that I am but one of many, and you a third son, lest our meeting be considered of great import."
"And your mistake be considered Rozarria's insult to Archadia?" Still Vayne smirked behind his mask.
"I cannot see why it should be considered an insult at all," Al-Cid replied easily. "Here in my homeland, it is a compliment to be found beautiful, whether male or female."
"I suppose it is." Though the mask largely hid Vayne's expression, he did pause to regard Al-Cid for a moment. "And so you do not intend to retract your remarks?"
"I would never go back on my word, nor willingly speak an untruth," Al-Cid stated, with a smirk of his own. "If I have said something, then it is said."
Vayne laughed quietly. It was very much the response Al-Cid had been hoping for. "You are... interesting, Al-Cid Margrace," Vayne observed. "And your charm considerable. I expect it will serve you well."
"And I will take that as a compliment."
Vayne's smirk now appeared more an honest smile. "As it was intended."
When Al-Cid offered his hand again, Vayne hesitated a moment, then shook firmly. "Perhaps, as the circumstances of our births permit us to go unnoticed - we might, indeed, go unnoticed."
It might have been Al-Cid's imagination, the way Vayne's gloved hand seemed to linger, sliding along his own as he withdrew. Or... it might not. "Are you not enjoying yourself?"
"I seldom enjoy such affairs, but they do occasionally present useful opportunities. I'm certain you understand."
"All too well," Al-Cid agreed with a nod.
Vayne still held his own glass in the left hand, and drained it before setting it aside. "The drinks, if nothing else, are exquisite," he added. "But this ball has otherwise been quite dry, until your approach made it more amusing."
"Then I am glad to have done so," Al-Cid told him, with a slight bow. And if he was reading Vayne correctly... "If leaving this assembly is what you wish, then it would be my pleasure to further amuse you."
Vayne lifted a hand, gesturing in the direction of one of the great archways at the end of the ballroom, with the darkness of night visible beyond. "Very well - shall we?"
It was indeed quite dark in the ornamental garden outside in spite of the season; the ball had begun before dusk, but already had lasted for hours. And perhaps because of the season, once they were far enough out among the maze of perfectly trimmed hedges that the chatter and music of the ball had faded, Vayne reached to his throat, loosening the collar of the ornate jacket he wore. "Forgive me if I offend," he remarked, "but seldom do we experience such heat in Archades. I feel I may be somewhat overdressed."
An interesting suggestion. "I am certain that I am," Al-Cid agreed, doing likewise. "Though I am accustomed to the heat. When not hosting formal events for international visitors, Rozarrians tend to wear considerably less."
Another low chuckle from Vayne. "Though I believe we've already established that our conversation has no bearing on the relations between our homelands, I would ask, lest I insult you personally - I know that you said you would not go back on your word. Do you still stand behind it...?"
Much as Al-Cid had suspected - and in a sense, hoped, for Vayne was graceful, well-spoken... intriguing. "I do," he said with a nod. "I am capable of appreciating beauty in both women and men." He suspected he did not need to ask.
And he was correct. "In that case," Vayne said, stopping where he was on the path to turn to Al-Cid, "I will suggest you wear as little as makes you comfortable in my presence."
"Hmmm..." Al-Cid smiled. Already he was accomplished at reading opportunities, and this seemed to be a particularly entertaining one. "And you are welcome to remove as much clothing as you wish."
"My own...?" Vayne inquired, sounding almost innocent. "Or yours?"
That was a very, very clever line, Vayne's delivery of it impeccable, and Al-Cid was not sure he could think of a better answer than to take Vayne by the hand and pull him through a gap in the hedges, leading him away from the walking path and further along the wall of the palace, where few would have reason to wander on such a night of celebration. Behind him, he heard Vayne laugh again, this time a bit louder.
The laughter ceased, however, when Al-Cid came to a shadowy corner beyond a protruding tower, and pressed Vayne up against the wall, covering Vayne's lips with his own. An approving hum came from Vayne's throat, and at last, Al-Cid's fingers could stroke through those coveted curls.
After a moment of simply enjoying what may have been the most passionate kiss Al-Cid had experienced to date, he suddenly found himself against the wall, Vayne pinning him, a knee between his thighs. He could not quite keep himself from moaning quietly when Vayne drew back. "You never answered my question," Vayne reminded him, "about the removal of clothing."
"Hah..." Al-Cid grinned. "Whatever you do not remove... I will see to."
"That seems a fair arrangement," Vayne murmured, before leaning in to nearly smother him with another kiss as hot and damp as the night air. "But one suggestion," he added as an afterthought. "To keep this interesting... why not keep the masks on?"
"I cannot imagine how this could become uninteresting," Al-Cid panted. "Yet it is a masquerade..."
"Precisely," Vayne stated. "A bit of fun - of no lasting consequence."
And it was by far the most memorable masquerade Al-Cid had attended thus far - a distinction that would hold for the rest of his life.
-----
Yet only a few years later, Al-Cid had the chance to see Vayne Solidor again, and under very different circumstances. An envoy was sent to Archades in hopes of negotiating a treaty - and quietly investigating the rumors regarding the demise of Emperor Gramis's two eldest sons. Given the nature of the rumors, Al-Cid opted not to give his name, nor to remove his dark glasses when the party was ushered in to meet with the Archadian Empire's representatives.
It was the first time he had seen Vayne's face unmasked, looked him in the eye from behind his own dubious camouflage - and what he saw there told him that the rumors were true. The way Vayne's cold eyes lingered, the hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth, suggested that he was recognized - and it made Al-Cid's blood run cold. All the more so as Vayne simply moved on, saying nothing, and made no attempt to speak with him for the duration of the visit.
For after all, that night truly had been a night of no consequence.