Chapter Text
The question of when he was going to stop letting Annie drag him along ran across Bertholdt’s mind as he stared across the hall and gave another swallow of his nerves. She had long since abandoned him at this table, pulled away by some suited boy, and he swore she smiled at him. She was used to this world, two other friends of her's he’d never met born of this. She knew how to play the part, where to go, how to speak.
Bertholdt Fubar didn’t know of the politics surround him (a few of the faces he managed to recognize, plastered all over television). He didn’t know of the complicated games they played, the rules that silently dictated their lives. He just knew the two rules Annie had left him. Stay silent, don’t get involved. Easy enough to follow. He hated talking to strangers; sometimes he could barely talk to Annie.
It was getting harder though. The hours were passing, daughters, sons, drunk on their own success and the spirits scattered, no longer caring. Everyone’s desirable. He’s desirable and the attention is not welcomed. ‘Don’t let them near; they’ll only want a toy.’ Annie’s words are bouncing around his head. But she’s gone now, his only protection from them. She’s enjoying herself with that boy, and there’s no reason to stay any longer. But his position is terrible. Whatever scattered tables, filled with open refreshments and drinks, some for those who did not feel for dancing to sit at, were tucked far into the hall. The swirl of colors and fabrics, laughter and joy block his way. He’d have to brace his way through the crowd and the very idea sends a bead of sweet down his face. It’s not his night.
It's less of his night when he dares to venture. The song ends too soon, partners are dismissing, he feels suffocated as people shift around him. Women have a habit of floating around partners, and some have made their way close. He can't help it, there's an initial panic in his chest and he tries to escape. He's instead thwarted again.
She's shorter than him, enough that in his flight he doesn't notice as she smacks into his chest and they both stumble in opposite directions. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry I didn't--"
The small laughter is strange, so is the smile she gives as she shakes her head, smoothing out her evening gown before finally speaking. "It's quite alright; I was the one not paying attention to my path. Forgive me." She has to be important. There's no one else dressed so delicately and precise, made to seem perfect in every aspect, in the entire building. They seem so dull compared to her, everyone else out of place instead of her.
If Annie hadn't told him it was some sort of cotillion, an introduction, Bertholdt could've sworn the woman in front of him was getting married, Her dress screamed it. The delicate flower lace cover that started as a choker and wrapped down across her front until it ended at the waist, the simple-ness of the skirt fanning out around her. He wonders if it itches at her skin, how far around it wraps around the dress. And then he realizes she's staring at him, waiting for an answer.
"Ah! I should be the one. I was in such a rush that I didn't notice you." No one bothers them and he can't help but feel watched, as if the whispers passing by are about him, how he knows her. It unnerves him. "I really should go however. My time here is overdue and--"
She means to be polite, but something about the nervousness of the other is amusing to her, eliciting a short laugh. She unlinks her hands, gently holding out one towards him as another smile replaces her laugh. “It’s no one’s fault. But if you’d like to apologize, may I ask a dance of you? I think it’s a fair request.”
Her question is barely audible to him, but everyone is aware of it. They’re moving in partners again, delicate hands starting a tune as Bertholdt notes the gloves that are identical to her lace, wrapped around her middle fingers. "
I apologize. You’re allowed to say no if you’d like.” She seems disappointed as she draws her hand back. Not the same as the other girls he’d denied, genuinely. It’s enough to make him shake his head clear and quickly grab her hand. She's surprised, as is he, and he tries his best to hide the embarrassment. He forces his focus on the song, the movement of those around them as he starts their own dance.
"I am sorry," Bertholdt mumbles eventually. "I was sort of brought here by my friend and she's off somewhere; I was, just trying to go home." His eyes are side glanced. Dancers that are so much more skilled than him catching his eye. They move so easily, dip and turn their partners with an inhuman grace he could never achieve. He wants to try though, and so he lets go of her waist.
There's something calming about your first spin as partners.
For her part, she's humming to herself, nodding at his words. This boy is an entertaining partner, no doubt about it. "Is my party not entertaining enough for you?" She scoffs lightly, giving a smirk that's ill fitted to her face. "I understand we’re not the most desirable of company, but to dismiss before the appropriate hour is terrible manners and quite insulting to me. " there's shock in his face, and the débutante casts her face elsewhere, an embarrassment filled laugh leaving her. "Sorry, that's a terrible thing to say. I'm not good at this." Her cheeks are burning now, tongue pressed against teeth.
Bertholdt's chuckling nervously now. His palms are feeling sweaty again, he doesn't want to stain the pure white of her sleeves. "We could... start at hello? I'm, Bertholdt Fubar." It makes her smile, and as to why it makes his chest flood with warmth he doesn't know.
"It's my greatest pleasure to meet you Mr. Fubar. And I am Marcie Bodt." His face gives it away,the recognition flashing across his eyes at her last name. But he doesn't lye, only smiles again and leaves it at that. It's a break for her. From everyone and everything that associates with it. And it's wonderful. "I'm really enjoying this dance, Bertholdt."
"I am too. It's not as and here, not like I thought it would be. It's just, the people, really. They're--"
"Intimidating? That's how it's supposed to he. It's all about appearances and power here." She's giving a dark stare towards some person, some place. "Despite what everyone claims, names are really everything here. Names so easily targeted and destroyed with simple words.” Marcie’s tone has grown bitter, brown eyes still cast elsewhere almost as if searching for someone. It isn't fair to Bertholdt though, so she turns her attention back to him. It’s easy for him to capture her attention, just with that smile. It’s different from the ones she’d grown up with. So sincere and honest. She adores it.
The conversation falls easily after that. Words aren't really needed, their focus is on the music . He’s still new to the dance, she has to readjust herself to match him, but it not a bother. It’s welcomed. She’s laughing with him as he gives nervous apologies. Such a strangely appreciated habit.
It’s wrong of her to enjoy this so much. Too many people are watching them, probably speaking of the smile on her face. But he seems so much less nervous and it lifts her own spirits of the night. “Thank you for that,” she mumbles. The song is ending, they've both stopped moving and she can't bring herself to pull away just yet. It's all so strange.
“Marcie.”
The voice is a slap in the face to her. Her head is jerks up as Bertholdt glances down to her and she's pulling away immediately, hands linking back together as she turns to the speaker. “Jean… There you are.” She smiles again, stepping towards him but flinching at his hand on her shoulder. “Forgive me; I thought it only fair to dance with some other of our guests. Don’t you think?”
Jean’s giving a blank stare as he watches her, and when he finally acknowledges Bertholdt, it’s almost an arrogant smile. “I understand. Thank you for entertaining my fiancé as I attended to something else sir. I won’t let her bother you anymore.”
Every eye is in him, he can feel it. Annie has magically reappeared, but he can barely register her hand in his arm or the squeezing of his fists as he watches the embarrassment in Marcie's face. "It was no trouble at all. She was excellent company. Thank you for letting me have that pleasure of providing her an audience."
He's an arrogant prick for sure. The way he just smiles and lulls her away. His dismissal is enough to break the attention from Bertholdt, even as he fumes to himself in silence.
"Fuck's sake Bertholdt, you know how to pick them. Jean Kristein's fiancé?!" It's a short hiss from the blonde hand squeezing his arm until he pulls out of it. "What were you thinking?!"
The councilman's son, his could he be so stupid? "I wasn't. Don't worry...." It's a clear shot now. He's going to take it, like he should've from the start.
"I'm never going to see her again."