Flight School: Jane

"Jane"

The night was well, and she was getting tired.

She had expected the sluggishness to seep in—was waiting for it while she lazily swirled her red wine, clad in her red cheongsam. When the music lifted, she did not. She only watched as the predators swirled and swayed with their partners.

She felt Lord Falrir's questioning foot tap on the floorboards, but did not give him a verbal answer. She gazed out into the sea of avians and took a sip of her wine to avoid speaking.

"Oh, please entertain this old man," Falrir said, as he, too, stared at the ballroom without purpose. "I did not come here to re-acquaint myself with silence."

When she placed down the wine cup, it was with a resonating clink. "I have no partner," she reasoned. "And I feel like my companionship would be unwanted." Which seems true, if all the wary gazes the predators sent her way said anything. She could hear her name teetering off the edge of their tongues, unsaid, but present. She sighed. If she could, she would dance with that pleasant little sparrow again, and guide him patiently through his precious nervousness. However, she could not, as he had flittered somewhere into the night sky, disappearing quickly after Luka. She twisted the necklace that rested coolly against her collarbones. That's right—she was 'Jane', now.

"That's not true," Lord Falrir began, quick to oppose. He couldn't, however, follow up with his statement, and let the rest of his sentence die in the humid air.

She hummed quietly, contemplatively, and once again brought the wine glass to her lips. Unfortunately, as she tilted it, the glass gave way to nothing.

She turned to the crow behind her, who was buttoned up tightly in his school uniform, and gestured to her empty cup. Catching on quickly, he bowed politely and took the glass from the table, handling it delicately and carefully by its stem.

"Maybe you should try dancing again," she suggested, attempting to lighten the mood. She felt quite bad for dampening it earlier.

Lord Falrir huffed kindly. "I'm much too old," he said, voice strung with something melancholic and breathy. "I'm afraid I'll snap my bones."

She sat in silence, trying to find the right words to say, but luckily, to save her from a most unfortunate circumstance, a prey came over with her newly polished wine glass, still sprinkled slightly with droplets of water from being washed, and a large red wine bottle.

The prey placed the cup on the table with a muffled clunk, and uncapped the wine bottle without much effort. A bluebird, she noticed, pretty little thing. She smiled sweetly as the prey rose while politely tilting her head. Jane took in minute pleasure as the bluebird flushed to her neck.

Lord Falrir stood then. The bluebird excused herself and fluttered off.

"I am going to the restroom," the Lord said, mostly to himself, as his eyes wandered elsewhere. "A bit humid in here." Then he walked off without further warning.

She watched his back only for a few seconds, before she turned back to the table.

The music was slow, amorous. She sighed, but only half of her exhale made it past her lips. Perhaps she would dance again—maybe with that pretty little bluebird.

She blinked slowly. She had found herself hastily attracted to small things, lately.