Cutting a rug (Private)

[Wolven Pryde]

"Perhaps a bit of both," Locke answers quietly, on the topic of their imperfect memories. He suspects that recalling every endless moment of his time before would drive him mad. Then again, that insinuates that he is not mad already.

And if you ever understand too well, you will either hate me, or fear me.

He almost says it.

But the way L'aire spake, it seemed as though they were agreeing on some mutual understanding. While Locke cannot imagine that her situation directly mirrors his own, he is not so arrogant to think that his darkness is truly unique. Who knows what burden her heart may bear?

To seal that understanding, Locke adds a tilt of his brow, and his hint of a smile. He lifts the newly arrived tumbler as a silent and impromptu toast that they accept and respect each others' boundaries, and shall not push.

Eyebrows raise in thought at L'aire's direction in topic. 'Kind of dancing'... now there is something he has not given much thought. At least not toward his personal preference. There was dancing, and there was not dancing. He is moderately accomplished at it in general, and feels awkward standing around watching others do it without him.

"The energetic kind," he answers simply. Aware how incomplete of an answer it is. "Slow dancing makes me feel like a great, awkward old tree. Swaying lumber in a breeze. I suppose I am not very comfortable with it."

He is also not accustomed to learning the names to the things he gets half-cocked and copies others playing at in bars. It feels somehow very silly to admit that. Talking to a performer from Cirque du Soleil, he feels quite out of his league.

[Wolven Pryde]

One finger, not nearly as thick or green as usual, extends from the relaxed grip on his glass to point at L'aire. Indicating her most recent words rather than the Fairest herself.

"Quite right," he says, as though they have reached some sort of crux. "And for that, perhaps I will seek instruction from you, indeed."

There is a pause, where the Witchtooth actually seems to be fighting to keep a straight face, rather than contemplating the proper expression of emotion. It is technically no different than any other near-smile, or small gesture, but something suggests otherwise. It could be his Mask. Or it could be the carefully dry tone of his voice.

"But forgive me if I saw the opportunity to share some guileless fun with an interesting and beautiful woman, and seized it."

For what he knows, she will always think of him as 'that strange and creepy Ogre who talks like a character in The Lord of the Rings'. Locke has determined that he deserves no further consideration.

That does not mean he will refrain from enjoying himself.

[Wolven Pryde]

"Do flattery and honesty overlap so often?"

There is the ghost of an inquisitive expression on Locke's face as he asks. Also, that faint impression of a smile.

"As many things as we feel the need to hide from others, from nearly everyone around us, this one thing may be totally honest. That is quite a relief, is it not?"

The Ogre's tone is not inquisitive in an accusatory fashion. It is more positive supposition than anything else, that is in agreement with the Elven Fairest.

"Here I am, sharing time and conversation with a lovely, respectable, and talented person who for some reason or another has decided I am interesting enough to merit it. Why conceal that revelation?"

The thought there is not specifically why would he, but: why does anyone?

It could be his lack of preconceptions with some facets of culture or propriety. It could be his naturally calm assurance. But for whatever reason, Warren Locke simply does not understand the idea behind modern men and women refusing to let each other know where they stand. The risk of 'putting yourself out there' and being shot down is an entirely alien and foreign concept to him.

Because even if L'aire sought to laugh at, ridicule, or insult him, it is doubtless that she could conceive of anything more vile than the harsh thoughts he regularly inflicts on himself.

In that way, I am truly free.

[Wolven Pryde]

Locke is not particularly adept at socializing, either. Not with the facade, that is.

In his experience, maintaining a careful social facade had always went hand-in-hand with diplomacy. And in Arcadia, he had only engaged in diplomacy with another when he wanted something from them that they would not normally give up. Something valuable, that might be lost in yet another war.

Sometimes, diplomacy preceded brutality, in order to make such combat quick. And mercilessly efficient.

But the only thing Locke wants from L'aire is perhaps to discover some level of friendship. Which is something he has struggled with for decades. Were it not for the fact that Zephyr was so accepting, the Ogre would likely have never survived life on this side of the Hedge.

And that had been all her. Locke had caused nothing but trouble.

"I apologize again, then."

His tone comes rather light, obviously setting up another attempt at a joke.

Everyone brace yourself.

"I forget how much taller I am. Next time I shall aim lower."

Covering any potential embarrassment from the lame quip with another swig from the tumbler nearby, Locke then shakes his head slightly at the Fairest's assessment of him. The gesture is little more than a tick of his chin.

"I appreciate that. But this world remains a mystery to me, sometimes."

He figures that is vague enough not to confuse or tip off any eavesdroppers. Luckily, the band is nearly finished with their sound check, so if L'aire wishes to take it as an opportunity to steer the conversation back to a less awkward topic, she may do so.

But for his part, the broken tyrant is enjoying himself either way.

He may not recognize the feeling for what it is, but it is there.

[Wolven Pryde]

"Jazz or blues, most likely," Locke answers the question of genre almost offhandedly, as though he checked before to get some idea of what to expect. "Or some ragtime numbers."

There is that pause again, which is more of a clue that the Ogre is setting up a dry remark than any expression he could ever make.

"Though, I will not pretend to be well-learned enough to tell the difference."

Glad that she took his previous lame joke in stride, Locke nods just slightly. "I have been to a few bars, and some of the more reserved clubs in town. Nothing with quite this much..."

The cool blue eyes of his Mask tick left, as if searching for the correct word written somewhere in the decor.

"...Personality."

He simply inhales, in place of the shrug that a more animated man might make.

"And you? Found any good spots that you might recommend?"

The Witchtooth begins to wonder if the band will get their act together before they run out of small talk at the little Lost table. If he had his way, Locke would chat with L'aire until she became bored enough to ditch him. But he fears that his social affluence will not last much longer.

His advantages are very focused, and entertaining conversation is not usually counted among them.

The first song begins with a fun enough beat, but no one in the place is doing more than nodding their head or tapping their foot, as of yet. Unwilling to admit such a thing verbally, Locke quietly gauges the frequency of others making fools of themselves before risking the same. Normally, he would not care. But learning some the depth and prestige of the Winter Fairest's history has gotten him second-guessing himself.

What if she declares him a fool?

Then she will have proven how astute she truly is...