Lady Thief [on hold]

~ Prologue ~

The light from the gilded-paper lanterns only shone so far, and, just where where the shadows lapped at the gentle pools of light, she stood, half-hidden from sight.

Leaning against a rough-hewn brick wall, she watched as the members of the crowd whirled around each other.  Supposedly, they were dancing, but most just appeared to cleaving to each other as they spun in circles, desperately trying to keep up with the wild tempo of the string quartet.  She caught a glance of the instrument players, a rather bored looking group of folk sitting on their elevated platform, lost in a reverie of melody and rythm.  She was probably the only one to recognize that they were even there, but she'd always been an observant one, more observant than most.

She reached down, trying to smooth out her elegant skirts.  To be honest, she didn't particularly like dresses, especially not this one.  The tight, black-laced bodice squished in on her ribcage, and the wide, poofy skirts threatened to ensnare her legs as she tried to walk.  For a moment, she longed for pants.  They were so much simpler. 

The fiddle hit its hast chord and the music halted for a moment.  She looked up to see a gentleman approaching her.  Well, at least she assumed he was gentle, and it was plain to see that he was man.   Out of a small pocket hidden in the folds of her skirt, she produced a paper fan.  With a skilled hand, she whipped it open, revealing a delicate design of scarlet and black, which complemented her dress quite well.

"My lady, could I perhaps have this dance?" For a moment, she glanced up at him, taking a mental picture.  He was a young man, with lopsided, dirty blond hair and enigmatic, quicksilver eyes. Lighter complected, but not horribly pale.  Not half-bad looking, even handsome, she noted to herself. 

In a moment, her gaze darted back down.  She brought up the fan to cover her face, or at least what aprt of it wasn't covered up by her ornate mask.  It was the Dance of Masks, after all.  She paused, fluttering the fan shyly, almost demurely, just under her eyes.  "Perhaps." she said.  "But I'm afraid I'm not a very good dancer.  You see, that's why I've been taking a repreive from it, for fear of stepping on some poor mans' toes and breaking them."

Pity sprung into his eyes.  "I assure you that you can't be as horrible as you say.  Just one dance, miss.  You can't be a wallflower for the whole night." he assured her.

A small smile graced her face as she snapped the fan shut, returning it to its hidden pocket.  "Alright." she said, offering a black-gloved hand.  "If you insist."

As he lead her out into the square, the quartet picked up a new tune, one of perfectly pitched, drawn out chords.  "If I may ask, what is you name?" he inquired. 

"Nadine." she said, the name flowing easily off of her tongue.  The dance started up, and she was thankful that it was something easy to keep up with.  They moved with slow, exaggerated footsteps, holding each other at an appropriate distance, unlike some of the others around them, who had taken in so much wine that they had to cling to each other, for fear of toppling over.  Dancing drunk was quite a hazard to others around you, the girl mused.

As she was brought into an gentle under-arm turn, the high whine of a violin solo rang in her ears.  It was a sad, almost lamenting sound.  She peered up at the gentleman's face, or at least what she could see of it through the jewel-encrusted mask.  Her eyes widened involuntarily.  The amount of precious substances that were in that mask could keep a family fed for months.  All in a mask, meant to be used for but one night.

"So," she said, dragging her attention away from the decoration.  "Have you been having a good holiday?"

He nodded politely.  "I have."  he said.  "The week has been simply marvelous.  It's been great to see so many people enjoying themselves.  Everyone's so happy this time of year."