(no subject)

Date: 2020-09-02 11:54 pm (UTC)
fidior: — 𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 (Default)
From: [personal profile] fidior
It makes Edward nervous, the masks. Layers of faces: one stacked atop the other. Eyes peering out from behind porcelain, silk, or lace.

It isn't the sort of thing he fancies. He prefers the stability of reality: what one sees is what one gets. Nothing hidden. Nothing false. (Edward is also not a socialite, and any sort of event like this makes him nervous by default).

His nerves make him gloomy — he remains estranged, a dark shadow sticking to the walls of the elaborate room, until one of his superiors tells him he needs to join in the fun, and although it isn't a command, Edward follows it. He is handed a mask with a large black and gold feather jutting out of the top: too fancy for him, but on his face it goes, as instructed.

But the rest of him is almost plain for this event: he wears his long coat and gloves, standard of the British Royal Navy to which he belongs — it's a last hurrah before they set sail in the morning. The men laugh and drink and Edward moves quietly through the crowds, but the mask is strange around his eyes and obstructs his vision a little. When he turns a corner and bumps against a young woman standing there a bit apart from everything, he turns to her, polite, but reserved.

"My sincerest apologies. Have I hurt you, madam?"

(no subject)

Date: 2020-09-03 05:18 am (UTC)
fidior: — 𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 (Default)
From: [personal profile] fidior
The man looks her over to see that she's all right — spooked perhaps, like a little deer, but otherwise not too out of sorts. Reaching gloved hands up to adjust his own mask, settling its position across the upper part of his face, Edward's brow furrows at that. He's a severe man, though not harsh. There's a softness to his eyes, lashes long — even feminine — pools brown, sorrowful. The severity is more to his own self, a certain inclination to keep himself steadfast.

To keep his head from ever becoming caught in the clouds.

"I am sorry to intrude upon your thoughts." He isn't much of a conversationalist, but he thinks perhaps he owes more of an explanation as to his mishap. "It's these masks, they obscure the vision. Silly things, aren't they?"

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Johanna Turpin

September 2017

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