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Mountainside Planetarium - Clutch Only 

Edvin Beck had lived for centuries upon centuries. He had witnessed the rise of technology, done his best to keep up with the ever advancing world of electronics. Still, from time to time, he found himself behind on new developments. It was not something he minded. In fact, he quite enjoyed discovering new gadgets. Like, for instance, a Bluetooth speaker. To which he found he was able to connect the application called 'Spotify', something he had come across some months prior. A wonderful application, truly, as it even stored music that pertained to his own interest. Specifically, the entire works of Chopin.

It felt somewhat strange, having only to press a few selections on his phone before the speaker lit up with some pointless light, and began to play forth the sounds of 3 Grandes valses brillantes, Op 24: No. 2 in A Minor. So used to having to manage a vinyl record, he was somewhat delighted and somewhat put off by how instant it was. Still, the music was clear and soothing, and acted as a fitting background noise to what he chose to occupy his time at the Planetarium this evening.

A paint by number kit. A suitable start to his latest venture into painting, he thought. The image was still warped and indiscernible for now, as he was just beginning to make way with the 2's, which were one section of 18. It was rather relaxing, he found. A tarp was set on the ground beneath a small easel, though he was precise enough in his strokes that there was little need to worry for a mess. As the brush scraped softly against the canvas, Edvin found himself humming along to the music from the speaker nearby.



 For all her memory could be faulty and fail her more than she cared to admit, Greta, for one, felt she was rather on top of the technology game. As such, she was hardly surprised to find Edvin listening to fine music on a bluetooth speaker - she was closer to surprised to see he had one that lit up, and more so to see him painting. It wasn't exactly shocking, of course - surely such old vampires had a wealth of artistic ventures, whether it be painting or... making fortune tellers.


 "I didn't realize you were an artiste," she hummed as she approached from the opposite end of the easel. E-reader in hand, she would come to stand just behind him to get a look at what he was painting - and a true smile curled her mouth as she saw the various numbered sections.

The approach was not easily missed. Greta in all of her striking visage coming into the room pulled his focus for a moment, a smile curling his lips as he chuckled. She moved to see the canvas, and he did not find any shame in allowing her to see. "Oh, I am an esteemed painter, can't you see?" He jested as he moved to stroke color into a small section of the painting, effectively covering the faint '2' printed in. "I'm working on my next masterpiece."

 Very funny, Mister Beck. She laughed quietly, a mirthful sound for all it was soft, and turned to lower herself into a lounge chair just a few feet away. "I'm sure it'll sell for thousands," she bantered as she settled, the device resting in her lap without being turned on for now. She kept her eyes on the man, amused by the simplicity of how different he appeared from the man who's nose she'd broken months ago. "What is it?" Unfortunately, she hadn't looked at it closely enough to gather that information for herself.

"Perhaps you will be the first to bid on it." He chuckled as she settled down. A careful glance to the small paint pots below him, to collect another small amount of paint. At the question, he looked over to the box he had set aside on a table before the seat she was settled into, gesturing toward it for her to take it and flip the downfacing lid over. She would see the finished painting on the front. "A cat, or I do hope it will be. I suppose we will see when I am finished."

 She smiled just so again for his words, but made no response - it was amusing, but not unappealing, to think of this little paint-by-number masterpiece hanging among her extravagant collection at home. He gestured towards the box, and she would pick it up, chuckling as she turned it over and admired the snoozing feline. She almost wished her animal form could be such a thing. She did love cats.

 "I have the utmost faith in you," she assured him, though playfulness remained in her tone, laying the box down. Her eyes wandered to the illuminated speaker, then, trying to place the familiar tune. "This song - who is that?" She'd ask after a moment of fruitless pondering.

A token of faith to cherish, truly. At the question, he paused to look toward the speaker, though his hand moved to dip the brush into a small cup of water he had set aside. "Chopin," He answered her, swirled the brush, then looked to the towel he had draped over his knee to rub the hairs against the fibers. "I've discovered a music app that miraculously has all of his works." He explained. "Do you have something you'd prefer?" He questioned as he moved to dip the brush into the pot labeled '3'.

 Chopin. And such a classic song. She was nearly frustrated by her inability to grasp the information alone, but it was easy to let it go. She leaned her cheek against a propped fist, glancing at him as he painted and spoke, amusement refreshed by the paint by numbers canvas. "No," she assured him. "It's a lovely song. I remember attending some sort of ball many years ago and dancing to it." It was a very faded memory, an image worn by time. "Do you dance, or is painting the height of your love for the arts?"

He was privately glad that she was fond of it. And, he wondered, how long was 'many years' to Greta? He regrettably did not know her age, but would certainly not be asking it. It hardly mattered. It was not hard to pick out the proposition in her words, and thus he set the brush upon the lip of the easel before she was finished with her words. A small smile curled into the corner of his lips as he turned in his seat to fully look to her. "I have lived too many years to avoid learning to appreciate dance." He said with a small chuckle. "Though, I do suspect you may best me in it as well as you did in combat."

 Greta could readily tease him for his "many years," but was of a similar train of thought as the man. Really, the years didn't matter - the longer, the better for such creatures. She chuckled quietly, pursing her mouth as she shifted her weight in her seat. "It's hardly a competition," she assured him as she rose to stand. She'd have to see for herself, now, wouldn't she? Beckoning with a hand, Greta would move to the far side of the easel again and add with a tiny smile, "Just don't step on my toes."

He did suppose there was lest risk of breaking a nose here. Edvin's smile remained as he removed the towel from his knee and set it to the side. A brief moment of inspecting his hands for any stray paint, before he rose to stride toward her. The music had shifted some, falling into Chopin's Waltz in A Minor Op. Posth, a slower and more melancholy feel, though it did not hardly match the surmounting enjoyment of the moment. Edvin took Greta's hand, and maneuvered himself to stand before her, his arm lifting her to the side whilst the other found the proper place against her upper back. It took a moment to fall into, but with a step to the side, he lead them into a simple box step for the time being.

 Wasn't he a good sport! Greta's smile grew just so, and she watched him rise and inspect his hands before approaching. She'd lift a hand to meet his palm, the other coming to rest just beneath his shoulder, arm resting against his. Positioned just slightly to the left of him, to better avoid knocking toes, Greta would follow his lead. The rise and fall of their steps to the soft, pensive music triggered her memory well enough that all the technicalities of this simple dance fell into place.

 "Terrible dancer," she teased gently after a few circling moves. He was, of course, not terrible at all! What a humble Second he was.

She fell into it naturally, and he was glad for a dance partner that seemed so take so gracefully to it. They bobbed fluidly, their feet missing one another in a largely precise pattern. That was, of course, when she moved left and he moved right, and he just missed stepping into her. Edvin chuckled sheepishly, adjusting as best he could to recover from the misstep. "I'm afraid I'd have to agree." He quipped back with a laugh in the back chambers of his voice. Nevertheless, he recovered well enough to feel confident in leading her into a arching path that cut toward the piano, then around again.

 The misstep was a close call, and for all she faltered with him as well, she didn't stiffen for it. A soft chuckle to echo his, and they were back to it. She would only shake her head for his self-depreciation, smile light. Back, out, in, up, down. It was a simple dance, but perhaps under appreciated, especially when done to a song such as the one that played on Edvin's speaker.

 Around the room they went, and as Greta became more at ease with the movements, it was easier to focus on other things. Edvin's casual garb, the weight of his hand against her shoulder blade, the lines of his face. It was perhaps not as invigorating as punching someone in the nose, but it certainly offered a closer look at smaller details she had never paid much attention to - like the particular arch of said nose, or the keen edges of his cheekbones. Things she'd seen plenty of times before, but had not quite committed to memory. Shameful, probably.

 "Congratulations," she would say eventually. "You have now seen the height of my dancing abilities." So long as no one considered fighting a form of dance, anyway.

It was rather convenient that a vampire could not run out of breath. Were he human, he was certain by now he would need to be mindful of keeping his breath steady. Instead, his attention was kept on the placement of their steps and the tempo of the music. He was not unaware of her gaze, and he did take a prolonged moment to look down to meet her eye with a smile, but otherwise he turned his gaze to her slender, though strong, shoulder. When she spoke up, he did look to her with a throaty chuckle, "A sight to behold, I assure you." He said in reply.

When it seemed appropriate with the flow of the music, he would take her into a spin in place, though the movement did carry them somewhat in the same path they had been gliding about in. Once, twice, and a third time before he lead them back into a box step. "That is about as impressive as I can manage to be." He added.

 His words would earn him a certain sort of look that involved narrowed eyes and a pursed mouth, but the expression was light rather than vexed. Edvin the gentleman. Still, she rarely let a compliment get to her head, and moved on with the steps all the same, enjoying it more as a piece of work and not so much an act of art.

 Understanding the guide of his hand, Greta would twirl under the arch of their arms, the hem of her skirt and the ends of her hair lifting just so with the wind created by the movement. They fell back into place, and as he spoke she'd smirk again. "Brilliant," she meant to assure him gently. "I don't think waltzing asks much of intricacy." As such, Edvin could very well be at the top of the game! "Did you know the waltz was begun by Austrian peasants?" For all his years, perhaps he did.

He supposed it was a rather simple dance, comparatively. His brows raised some in interest at her node of knowledge, and he smiled fondly as he pulled them into a slowing pace. "I did not. That's interesting. I do remember I was rather amused by it the first time I witnessed it." Some... hundreds of years prior. He could not remember more than the amusement and charm of it. "Though, I suppose I should not have been so quick to laugh. Are you familiar with Halling?" A ridiculous form of dance, though it was one he could not deny to have participated in as a young man.

 There was some little twinge of satisfaction in imparting some useless fact on a thousand year old vampire. She wondered about the circumstances of his first witnessing it, but it was an idle thought that fell away quickly. The movements of their dance, even as they slowed down, became a temporary second nature - to take the steps and turns was as simple as carrying the conversation.

 Her brow rose some, smiling just so again for his next question. "It sounds familiar," she said, thoughtfully. "But you'll have to refresh my memory."

Cheeky. Edvin finished out there waltz as the song faded, but he lingered a moment in their stance. "I don't think there are any hats available." He said with a slight air of disappointment, a faint pout on his lips as he looked about, then stepped away from her to stride toward the speaker by which he had left his phone. "Hallingkast is the best part, you know?" He added.

 Greta would continue to follow his lead, even into stillness, considering his expression as he lingered there. No hats? Greta's brow rose some in curiosity, and as he stepped away she would hang back, arms crossed. "Of course," she responded, but with a tone that carried some playful sarcasm. The word 'hallingkast' brought absolutely nothing to mind.

Edvin cock a small smile over his shoulder as he reached his phone. The app was still rather confusing, but he managed to find the magnifying glass and pull up the small keyboard as he spoke. "Though... I do suppose I would like to see if- ah!" He exclaimed as what he searched for pulled onto the screen. "It is here." He chuckled with a nod, and thumbed the song he'd sought out. Over the speaker, a song began to play. It sounded quite different than he had ever heard it, not accompanied by raucous clapping and laughing, cheering or the sounds of the gatherings that this particular dance was often preformed at.

Still, he nodded his head in time with the music, and paused to look to Greta a moment. It had been centuries and centuries, and he was not particularly dressed for it. In the same breath, the music did inspire a boyish smile. He had nothing to prove to Greta, and had no reason to preform in some attempt to impress her. And yet... well, he found himself swept into the novelty of it. Nostalgia, as it were. And so, after a few beats or do, he began to step into the fundamental movements of Halling. A bouncing, light footed skipping from one foot to the other, whilst his arms waved forward, then inward toward his chest in time with each rock back and forth. His movements carried him in a circular path, thought it was smaller than was usual given the space. Still, a smile grew, and he brought one foot backward with force that brought his heel to the back of the opposite thigh, and repeated that when the rise in music called for it.

this is the most ridiculous thing on earth, here's a reference. So far he'd only doing what is shown from 00:10 to 00:20


 For all their lack of a hat, Edvin apparently found something he could do all the same. Greta watched him coolly, listening to the new song that played and watching him closely. He grinned and nodded his head, and not long after would fall into some bouncing, circular dance. She watched his feet, and then his hands as they went to and fro, then his broadening, boyish smile. For all it was a traditional dance, if Greta had never seen him doing this, she wouldn't have believed it. It was hard not to laugh, and she did, a small sound that was genuine for all it was quiet. Otherwise, she remained a stoic onlooker, finding that there was some familiarity in his movements.

It was, admittedly, rather enjoyable. He found himself more familiar with the movements as the song went on, and encouraged by her small laughter, he did commit to a few more beats. Long enough to drop himself toward the ground in a squat, before bouncing back upright and coasting toward her and falling into a more subdued skipping motion. A small smile remained on his lips as he stopped all together, though his head did subtly nod along to the music as he came to stand before her. "Or, something along those lines..." He said with a chuckle to his voice.

 Her arms remained crossed as he went on, and her eyes followed his movements, up and down, squatting and skipping. It was no refined waltz for the wealthy, but there was something endearing about the traditional air of it. When he finished up, she'd uncross her arms to clap quietly. "Bravo, Mister Beck." A small smile accompanied her words. "Shall I let you get back to your masterpiece?"

He dipped his head at her applause, chuckling largely at himself. "It does not bother me if you stay, we can find music suitable for both of us and go about or own separate business. I'd hate to drive you away from reading," He looked to the electronic book she'd brought with her.

 "Oh, good," she hummed lightly. As if she'd allow herself to be chased from the common room to begin with. "Chopin works fine for me, if you'd like to continue listening to that." She felt pretty confident that whatever he chose she would also enjoy, and so would leave it at that. Pushing stray locks of hair over her shoulder, she would smile just so at him and move to return to her seat. Unless he had another bit of conversation he'd like to carry on, she'd turn her e-reader on and browse for something new.

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