ғᴀɴᴄʏ ғᴇᴇᴛ || ғɪɴᴀʟ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴏᴘᴇɴ

A calloused set of digits rose to scratch at messy locks of gold. Planning this party had sounded like a good idea; the alcohol, the dressed up women, the entertainment– it all sounded appealing to Prompto. What he had forgotten could have been the most essential piece to it all: The dancing. How had he forgotten the dancing? He almost wanted to kick himself in the ass. The only thing he hated more than dressing up in formal attire was attempting to match someone’s movements when in that formal attire. It was too elegant; it wasn’t quick, nor was it raw. It was planned, it was complex, it was fluid. It was something he didn’t excel at.

The charm of waltzing was a charm he wasn’t familiar with. It made him uncomfortable.

In high school, he, along with the rest of the student body, had been forced to take lessons of etiquette and lessons of formal occasions such as these. Those lessons had to be the ones he goofed off in the most. They were his least favorite and his most frustrating; why would he show any interest in them? Part of him was beginning to regret the fact that he had intentionally gotten himself dismissed during those classes. Right about now, he could have used the pointers from the grandma who so consistently nagged at him when he fucked around. 

An airy chuckle escaped his lips.

Just how screwed was he?

Brow raised, he placed his hands to waist and observed the bodies he could. The heat of the room was slipping past the rolled up sleeves of his white-collared shirt, but that wasn’t the cause of the sweat collecting at the back of his neck. He hated this shit. It made him feel stupid. Even worse, he was stuck in these fancy clothes that held no comfort whatsoever. Where did a guy get a break in all of this?

“Heh,” he chuckled to himself, fixating his gaze on one of the chandeliers above. It glittered in the dimness of this lighting, illuminating specks of colour to all those on the floor as it hung stiffly from the ceiling. Prompto wondered how stiff he looked? He narrowed his gaze. Perhaps if he stayed like this, he would go unnoticed. If we was to go unnoticed, he could avoid getting dragged out to the floor and embarrassing the living shit out of himself.

floating on AIR;

A sleepless night.

Faceless figures covered the ball room, cloaked in array of colors. A mystery shrouds them in a mask, concealing their true identity from being exposed. Music enchanted the night bringing people to waltz gracefully, their bodies moved by the sound. A stirred chatter immersed the rest of the guests, huddling close in groups to even hear the other.

One stood alone, back against one of the marble walls adjusting his garments although he himself did not look so distant. A soft smile formed on the teens’ face as he tugged against his cuff that was starting to ride up his arm, his own mask embroidered with gold detailing, a mere imitation of his own personality though his own spiky mane couldn’t hide that. Soon he pushed off from the wall, taking a look out into the crowd- his smile widened.

But his body had other ideas in mind.


His mouth was dry and in need of the liquid substance, the punch bowl was set up in the main nourishment area.

So the young man, weaved through many visitors making a beeline towards his goal, baring teeth as he grabbed a cup and spoon scooping up the punch to fill. “Ah, good.” he spoke quietly to himself as he held the cup close to his lips and took a sip, the fruity ingredients sending a tangling sensation dancing on his tongue his thoughts wondered to the possibilities that could arise on this special night.         

Why did it matter if he danced or not? This was all bullshit in his mind anyway – Too many people, too much damn noise. He hated it here… Hated it so much… Too much, too much… Why’d he come again…? Oh yeah that damned so-called Angel wanted him to make new friends. He still found this a huge waste of time he could’ve spent writing music or perfecting his art, or just hanging out at Wild Kat Cafe, anywhere but here.  A soft sigh fell from parted lips as he tied to make himself scarce – Maybe nobody would ask him dance. Maybe nobody would notice him…? He could hope, right? 

late to the ball;

It had gone by unnoticed, rather the fact she had a party to attend hadn’t crossed his mind. Naturally though, her absence had been felt from the moment she’d been gone for a few days to the point he’d finally heard. A ball of sorts, had there been a reason she hadn’t told him? That line of thinking hadn’t sounded promising in the least, and it left him with a moment to figure just what she might have meant by it.

Naturally, his process of over-thinking the situation fitted his persona to the point he’d encouraged himself to arrive at the location. Managing his uniform at least, he seemed to fit the formal part. But it was the reference of a mask that became increasingly obvious. He didn’t have one, rather. He hadn’t brought or bought one to begin with. Teeth gritted, brows knitting all the more at the fact he’d have to think on his feet.

Gaze shifting, it had been two stray masks which caught his attention. Set beside a few personal belongings, it seemed the likely case that the owners had been distracted. Spotting the masculine one, he wasted no time in snatching it up and affixing it to his face. Swift, his back turned just in time to enter the main hall where the festivities were occurring.

Looking to the left, then right it became all the more obvious he’d be subject to some scrutiny. But more so, he’d fall prey to the fact that finding Rinoa in such a mix would be all the more difficult. Just how would he determine who she was amidst the other brunette women? Making his way at least, he did his best not to interrupt dancers, or any waitresses or waiters making their way by with trays.

It might be a bit harder than he figured.

Petals Falling Onto the Dance-floor || Final World RP (Open!)

Loud chatter filled the seemingly-endless ballroom, the orchestra’s skillful melodies playing softly in the background; inaudible voices and whispers shuttered through the woman’s ears, giving her a slight sense of unease. Overlong chiffon-pink fabric draped onto the marble floor, gracefully flowing each step that Aerith’s silver-clad foot had taken. Emerald optics peered though the pink and silver mask, slowly looking around as she took everything in. Dim lights hung from the tall, white walls like lanterns lightning a dreary night- giving the room an aura of both romance and mystery.

 Brushing a loose chestnut curl from her face, the Flower Girl’s eyes settled upon the forms of dancing couples- nothing but mere silhouettes in the room. Women spun around, enjoying the time they had been spending with their anonymous partners. The corners of the Cetra’s pallid, pink lips curled up into a small smile, adorning her gentle features like a glimmering jewel. Waltzing was something that had entranced her since she was young- just simple idea of strangers sharing a dance was such a beautiful thing to her. To be one with the music- to be one with someone else…for just once. As a young girl, Aerith had always dreamt of sharing a dance with someone she barely knew. But alas, just the idea of walking out onto the floor drew butterflies throughout her stomach.

 Despite her flirtatious, sweet personality, Aerith was always a bit on the bashful side- especially when it came to events such as this one. Sure, she loved being around people, but she felt so out of place, being around people of such high caliber. Compared to everyone else in this room, she saw herself as nothing more than an average person. Usually she would be out making friends or complimenting someone on their choice of dress, but she felt unwelcome here at the Masquerade. Most everyone had already found dance partners or were already in small groups- laughing and chatting the night away. Lenses of bright green dulled under the soft lighting as peachy lips unfurled into a slight frown. The brunette tapped her glass of champagne to her lips, allowing the fizzy liquid to slide down her esophagus. She stood here waiting- waiting for the night to come.