[Souma is trying to carry himself elegantly, in the outfit he got for himself from a merchant's shop, but he still feels like he must have farm dirt under his nails and in the cracks of his hands even though he checked three times already. It is the first time he's worn anything this formal in... oh, he doesn't want to think of how long. He's stuck exclusively to his farm clothing and simple peasant kimono so far here.
He walks by in the heeled black boots he is wearing, and someone puts a flute of champagne in his hand. Souma looks at it with wide eyes, like he thinks his hand will fall off.]
Ah-- p-pardon me, good sir, but--
[Then he pauses, rethinking this. Wait. He's not in Lyon. This wasn't a mistake. The drink server is giving him a friendly smile. Souma swallows, then... dares to take a sip. When he is finished, he breathes out and looks at his glass of wine in amazement, whispering to himself and the nearest person within earshot.]
Oh... so... that is what it tastes like…
II. Traditions
[Souma is at the guest book where people have written down their traditions and thoughts on the holiday. He is diligently writing, a pair of gold-rimmed round reading glasses on, as he carefully holds the book page so that he won’t smear the ink from the pen by moving it with his other hand on accident. He pauses and checks his work, satisfied. Noticing someone else there, he turns slowly.]
Ah. Excuse me. I… kept you waiting.
[He dips his head in apology, one hand to his chest. Then he looks up, with an interested expression towards the newcomer.]
Do… you also have a tradition? Won’t you please tell me about it.
III. Hit the Dance Floor
[Souma is in the shadows, hiding behind a tall red window curtain at the edge of the dance floor, peeking out to watch the people as they move in time to the music. He has never really… tried this. He is attempting to learn it the way he might learn a new sword technique– watching and memorization. He sways slightly, trying to get an idea of how it goes, and his head seems to trace the way the couples turn in a spiral. One foot shifts slightly with his thoughts, and he gingerly places it on the ball of the foot, changing to heel as he sees one of the dancers do so. He slides it back, then attempts to figure out what one is supposed to do with the arms. Is it… right arm is up and left is down? No, it’s not– he grunts and switches his hands, tilting his head as he tries to figure out which hand is which on someone facing away from him. Souma turns slightly, and his feet move in the beginning of a box step.
From outside, it sure as heck looks like something very odd and probably inappropriate is happening behind this drape.]
IV. Game Time
[Somehow, Souma wanders until he ends up in the quiet room with the board games and other activities. Curiously, he draws nearer, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of what the other guests are doing. Presently, he stage-whispers to the nearest person.]
Are you winning?
V. Charity Raffle
[Souma had contributed several charity prizes from his new farm. It seemed like a great way to advertise, and it was for a good cause too!. When the winning numbers are called, he is waiting with a small wooden gift box, with a pale blue bow around it. The side of the box says “Moon’s Refuge Farm.” Whatever is in there, it sure smells good. He hands the box to the winner after confirming that it’s the correct ticket number.]
Congratulations. Did you buy many tickets, or… just this one?
V. Presentation is Everything
[Souma has been trying very hard to frame himself elegantly by the roaring fireplace near the dance floor, waiting for a certain special someone, the boyfriend he has barely seen lately, to come in and notice him standing there in his elegant formalwear and be impressed. The holiday gift that he prepared for Jongdae is in his inner pocket and he holds a white rose in one hand. He tries standing on one leg, then the other, then turns with his hand propped against the mantlepiece. Should he have his back to the viewer, he wonders, or, should he be facing them? He twists himself, posing at about a three quarter-turn but with his bottom facing away from the fireplace (it was getting too warm). He puts on his glasses, he takes them off. He puts them on again and then pulls them down a bit to look dramatically over them. He takes them off and tries to look intelligent, with the temple tip in his mouth. He tries to imagine saying something very smart. No idea what that would be, just… ugh.
He feels… just ridiculous.
Groaning, he turns again, leaning up against the bricks with his arms folded in a huff of exasperation. His cheeks puff up with it and he scowls, his brows knitting together in the middle as his lower lip pooches up. He blows his long bangs out of his eyes in irritation and grabs a wine glass from a serving plate as someone walks by. He downs it in one gulp and stifles a burp. Then he places it up on the mantlepiece beside an identical empty goblet, where it hopefully won’t get broken. Souma braces both hands on the mantle now, facing away from the other guests and watching the flames rise.
He misses home so much, right then… misses those he watched the flames with years before at the twelfth month. Thinking of Shinya, and of Shion. His aunt and uncle. Of Yasu. Of… everyone that he has lost… it hurts. Sometimes, he wonders if he is starting to forget them. He must hurry up and finish learning to write, he thinks. Because he needs to write it down before it’s all gone.
He stands there, glowering at the fire, trying to piece together where he would start, what he would want to say.]
Souma | original | OTA
[Souma is trying to carry himself elegantly, in the outfit he got for himself from a merchant's shop, but he still feels like he must have farm dirt under his nails and in the cracks of his hands even though he checked three times already. It is the first time he's worn anything this formal in... oh, he doesn't want to think of how long. He's stuck exclusively to his farm clothing and simple peasant kimono so far here.
He walks by in the heeled black boots he is wearing, and someone puts a flute of champagne in his hand. Souma looks at it with wide eyes, like he thinks his hand will fall off.]
Ah-- p-pardon me, good sir, but--
[Then he pauses, rethinking this. Wait. He's not in Lyon. This wasn't a mistake. The drink server is giving him a friendly smile. Souma swallows, then... dares to take a sip. When he is finished, he breathes out and looks at his glass of wine in amazement, whispering to himself and the nearest person within earshot.]
Oh... so... that is what it tastes like…
II. Traditions
[Souma is at the guest book where people have written down their traditions and thoughts on the holiday. He is diligently writing, a pair of gold-rimmed round reading glasses on, as he carefully holds the book page so that he won’t smear the ink from the pen by moving it with his other hand on accident. He pauses and checks his work, satisfied. Noticing someone else there, he turns slowly.]
Ah. Excuse me. I… kept you waiting.
[He dips his head in apology, one hand to his chest. Then he looks up, with an interested expression towards the newcomer.]
Do… you also have a tradition? Won’t you please tell me about it.
III. Hit the Dance Floor
[Souma is in the shadows, hiding behind a tall red window curtain at the edge of the dance floor, peeking out to watch the people as they move in time to the music. He has never really… tried this. He is attempting to learn it the way he might learn a new sword technique– watching and memorization. He sways slightly, trying to get an idea of how it goes, and his head seems to trace the way the couples turn in a spiral. One foot shifts slightly with his thoughts, and he gingerly places it on the ball of the foot, changing to heel as he sees one of the dancers do so. He slides it back, then attempts to figure out what one is supposed to do with the arms. Is it… right arm is up and left is down? No, it’s not– he grunts and switches his hands, tilting his head as he tries to figure out which hand is which on someone facing away from him. Souma turns slightly, and his feet move in the beginning of a box step.
From outside, it sure as heck looks like something very odd and probably inappropriate is happening behind this drape.]
IV. Game Time
[Somehow, Souma wanders until he ends up in the quiet room with the board games and other activities. Curiously, he draws nearer, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of what the other guests are doing. Presently, he stage-whispers to the nearest person.]
Are you winning?
V. Charity Raffle
[Souma had contributed several charity prizes from his new farm. It seemed like a great way to advertise, and it was for a good cause too!. When the winning numbers are called, he is waiting with a small wooden gift box, with a pale blue bow around it. The side of the box says “Moon’s Refuge Farm.” Whatever is in there, it sure smells good. He hands the box to the winner after confirming that it’s the correct ticket number.]
Congratulations. Did you buy many tickets, or… just this one?
V. Presentation is Everything
[Souma has been trying very hard to frame himself elegantly by the roaring fireplace near the dance floor, waiting for a certain special someone, the boyfriend he has barely seen lately, to come in and notice him standing there in his elegant formalwear and be impressed. The holiday gift that he prepared for Jongdae is in his inner pocket and he holds a white rose in one hand. He tries standing on one leg, then the other, then turns with his hand propped against the mantlepiece. Should he have his back to the viewer, he wonders, or, should he be facing them? He twists himself, posing at about a three quarter-turn but with his bottom facing away from the fireplace (it was getting too warm). He puts on his glasses, he takes them off. He puts them on again and then pulls them down a bit to look dramatically over them. He takes them off and tries to look intelligent, with the temple tip in his mouth. He tries to imagine saying something very smart. No idea what that would be, just… ugh.
He feels… just ridiculous.
Groaning, he turns again, leaning up against the bricks with his arms folded in a huff of exasperation. His cheeks puff up with it and he scowls, his brows knitting together in the middle as his lower lip pooches up. He blows his long bangs out of his eyes in irritation and grabs a wine glass from a serving plate as someone walks by. He downs it in one gulp and stifles a burp. Then he places it up on the mantlepiece beside an identical empty goblet, where it hopefully won’t get broken. Souma braces both hands on the mantle now, facing away from the other guests and watching the flames rise.
He misses home so much, right then… misses those he watched the flames with years before at the twelfth month. Thinking of Shinya, and of Shion. His aunt and uncle. Of Yasu. Of… everyone that he has lost… it hurts. Sometimes, he wonders if he is starting to forget them. He must hurry up and finish learning to write, he thinks. Because he needs to write it down before it’s all gone.
He stands there, glowering at the fire, trying to piece together where he would start, what he would want to say.]