knightly_cub | (no subject)

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Thom was being chased across the ballroom. By all outward appearances he was simply crossing from one side to the other, pausing briefly to bow and exchange pleasantries with the prince, but Thom knew he was being chased as assuredly as a fox or doe knows to run from the sound of pounding hooves.

Not that his sister had such a heavy tread. Far from it. She had surprised him far too often for such an uncharitable thought to be accurate.

She finally cornered him by the balcony and yanked him outside in a swish of elegant silk or satin or some such finery in a delicate shade of... blue? Green? It was really rather hard to say standing in whatever moonlight managed to pierce the heavy clouds hanging over Corus. Thom blinked away the lingering brightness of the ballroom. "Grace," he said, resigned. "Hullo. Glad you're back."

"You sound it," she laughed brightly, smoothing her hands across his shoulders to make his tunic lie flat. "I've been looking for you, brother mine."

"Yes." A man being led to the gallows probably looked and sounded more cheerful. "I know. What do you want?"

Grace narrowed her eyes and looked as if she wished to argue the suggestion; she didn't. "I have a favor to ask. I'll make it worth your while," she added quickly, before he could roll his eyes and attempt an escape.

"So you always say. Somehow I still end up accountable."

Ignoring this, she continued, "I've made a bet with Maximus and I need your help losing it."

Thom stared at her, confused. "You wish to lose?"

"I do," she replied, a little too eager for his peace of mind. Grace patted her elaborately arranged hair and laughed, then tapped a finger against her lips. "I fear losing would do Max more harm than it would do me good, and I don't wish that on him. How could I?"

"I'm sure I don't know," he said, dryly. "What was the bet?"

"That he could -- or couldn't -- get you to, ah, allow someone's romantic attentions."

"What?" Thom felt himself turning as red as his hair.

"Your name just popped out, honestly. I am sorry for that. He was going on about his romantic prowess, you see, and there's this woman, Veradis, who clearly sees right through his nonsense, only he's too thickheaded to see what he's doing wrong. So I proposed our little game as a way to hammer the point home, but I fear his having to speak with her under my terms, should I win. He's simply not ready." Grace flashed her best smile.

"I-" Thom heard a sound like the ocean rising in his ears. "None of that made any sense at all, you realize."

Of course she knew. Of course. "Please, Thom? It isn't often I request help not winning."

"I'll give you that," he allowed, helpless in the face of that look -- which she also knew. "If I do this, I wish to make it perfectly clear I will be party to no further bets." Hadn't he already told Jamie just that? Repeatedly?

Grace nodded, lips suspiciously pressed together.

Thom said nothing for a long moment. "I'm still not sure I understand what you want me to do."

"Oh, just kiss someone. Make it look good," she answered, waving a hand in the air as if this wasn't asking him to do something totally out of character.

Thom groaned. "If it will help Max," he said slowly, "I will."

Beaming, Grace stood on her toes and threw her arms around his neck. "You are an exemplary brother, Sir Thom."

"No. Just a very tolerant one." He smiled thinly at her and wrapped an arm around her waist. It was good to see the horrid little bundle of trouble.

"There's one more thing..."

Thom groaned again.

He groaned more when he heard her out.

What she offered him in return, however, almost made up for it. For the first time in years, he went to sleep with new information on his uncle -- his namesake.

~ ~ ~

Milliways.

It usually made him smile, at least a little.

Not tonight. Tonight he's looking for Max and almost hoping not to find him, cowardly as that might be.

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"Well, with your brother off somewhere, you ought to get out there." You know what he means.

"Out there?"

Are you certain of that, Max?

But Thom does eventually remember why he's here and hazards, "You think I should take advantage of my brother's absence to... experience romance."

He says it the same way someone might inquire after the necessary.

"Of course!" Max declares brightly. "And, luckily for you, I know just the fellow to help you out."

"...help me out," repeats Thom, dully, "with romance."

Mithros, he hates his sister right now.

"Really."

"Sure! You've clearly got a lot to learn, after all." Max knew because Grace had implied it. And also because Thom wasn't draped with beautiful women. That was the only way you'd know you knew what you were doing.

"Do I."

Thom fails to stifle this sigh.

"For example?"

To hide his lack of surprise, Thom turns to the bar and quietly orders two ales.

"Well, for example," Max grins, ignoring the sigh. He leans back against the bar and nods at an attractive woman in a tight skirt and blouse at a narby table. "How would you approach her."

Taking his ale, Thom turns and stares at the woman.

A better question, he feels, is why.

"I wouldn't. She looks as if she doesn't wish to be bothered."

"She's alone, doesn't have anything she's working on, and keeps glancing this way." Well, that last part he's making up, but... it could be true.

It's definitely not.

"I think you're making that up," he accuses. "But I suppose I'd say hello."

"Would I do that?"

Well, of course he would.

"Anyway, after you said hi... then what?"

Then he'd stand there awkwardly, of course, looking like he'd rather be elsewhere.

"I'd... introduce myself?"

"See? That's exactly why you need my help," Max declared.

No, I think not.

"Okay."

Beat.

"You were saying?"

"Right. Your opening is pretty weak, but it'll work. Once you've got her attention, though, you can't just introduce yourself. You've got to do something that'll intrigue her, get her thinking about you."

Weak.

Thom doesn't care much for that word.

"I was under the impression that introducing oneself did just that, but," he grits his teeth, "what would you suggest?"

Hop on one foot?

Recite an epic poem?

Wave his sword about in a manly fashion?

Thom attempts to look interested.

The sword thing might work with the right woman, actually. Max eyes the one in question and considers that option before discarding it. To his expert eye, she doesn't appear to be the type.

"Usually a compliment is a great place to start." And, of course, judgment came into play regarding how over-the-top your first one should be.

Whose judgment, Max's or Thom's? Because Thom's willing to bet the sort of compliment Max would issue would make him turn roughly the color of his hair.

"Okay."

He glances at the woman again, studying her with eyes that miss little.

I'd tell her she must have fantastic balance to walk in a skirt that tight.

No, that probably wouldn't meet with Max's approval.

"I-" Thom clears his throat. "I'd say she has an artist's hands."

She does. The flecks of paint around her fingernails are a dead giveaway.

"Hmm..." Max considered that, then nodded. "Well spotted." He'd noticed the same thing, after all. "It is a layered compliment as it implies both elegance and creativity, and it also makes you appear insightful. Further, it offers you an obvious opening for conversation."

"And then?" Because the compliment was just an opener.

"I am insightful," says Thom; not boasting, merely making sure the record is set straight.

And then?

Is he expected to do all the work? Really, this is a hideous waste of time. Except...

Thom frowns at Max. One would have to know him well to recognize the fond exasperation in his eyes.

"I guess we'd discuss art."

"And that will suffice for a while. In fact, art is an excellent topic as it tends to evoke emotions." Max smiled at some memory.

"So your next task will be to subtly guide the conversation towards the romantic. At the same time you'll want to use the discussion to gauge your companion's interests and likely responses to an advance."

Max cocks his head to make sure that Thom understands.

Suddenly, Thom blinks with new -- if not entirely correct -- understanding.

"It's as if you're engaged in an attack."

"In some ways, that's quite an apt analogy," Max allows. "Though in this sort of attack, success is gauged in the sort of impression you make. By better understanding the interests and passions of the person you're talking to, you can ensure that your points are the most effective you can make them."

He should have known that combat would be the proper metaphor for Thom.

"As in a swordfight," Thom hazards, "you need to watch for clues in your opponent's body language and eyes. Telltale signs of what they are thinking, feeling and intend to do. So your strikes are the most effective you can make them."

He looks quite proud of himself.

(Yes, Max. You really should have.)

"Yes, that's it precisely!" Max agrees enthusiastically. "And just as it is with swords, practice hones your skills. And," Max smirks, "practice is valuable for both parties involved."

When you did it right, the woman in question had fun too, after all.