[hider=Rivka]
Rivka’s partner, the brown haired girl, allows a relieved smile to touch at the corners of her lips when the Ars Magi accepts her offer. Her own hands find their appropriate place, awkwardly at first, but once they settle she seems somewhat more at ease. 

“Amalee.” She replies, adding after, “Amalee Kraus. From Hasta.” As the two move into the crowd, led by Rivka’s slow steps, it soon becomes apparent that Amalee knows what she’s doing. After the initial hesitance her feet move with practiced grace, no fear of tripping or getting tangled up with Rivka’s patient motion. Even when the music starts to move faster the girl is sure and steady.

It’s probably not too surprising that she knows what she’s doing. It’s probably less than surprising: Most of the Officer’s Academy is made up of the privileged, and while not all bear noble name most come from wealth. Enough wealth to spend on tutelage in the classical arts, among other things. Rivka’s keen eye can no doubt pick out the fact that most of the Officer’s cadets move with a modicum of grace. Enough not to embarrass themselves.   

It takes Amalee a bit longer to warm up to further conversation, but she manages after a few slow rotations: “I didn’t know you were an Ars Magi, I was surprised.” She says, continuing, “Where did you learn to play? They don’t teach you that at Nova Lux, do they?” 

She hesitates briefly, before asking: “That’s not part of the magic, is it?” 
[/hider]

[hider=Selma & Chie]
Selma and Chie’s spirals match and mirror the other dancers, a sea of slowly rotating bodies as the music begins to lull. The last few notes taper out as the dance comes not to a close, but to an interlude. Bows and curtsies are exchanged between partners, some parting, some lingering in each other’s orbit and waiting for the music to call once more.

The two Ars Magi, the green giant and her more diminutive partner, find that the bubble of their personal space, like many others, has become more fluid. As dancers begin to mix and mingle new figures materialize from the crowd. They’re not any of the familiar shapes Selma’s seen flowing past, not any of her fellow Ars Magi, but people entirely new.

The two young officers are a study in contrast; one tall and dark, the other ivory-skinned and almond-eyed. It’s the latter that’s the first to speak, reaching out to draw Selma’s attention with a touch to her bicep. He’s a handsome boy—some might even say pretty--, dark hair half-obscuring his eyes and an easy smile on his lips.

“Excuse me,” He begins, “As a member of the Officer’s Academy, I have to make a formal complaint. It’s not fair for the prettiest Ars Magi to only dance with each other.” 

He requests, with a gamely extended hand: “Could we persuade you to trade partners, for just one dance?”
[/hider]


[hider=Crystal]
“Excellent! I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. You’re a very important part of our future, you know.” Crystal’s reply seems satisfactory, and Castra nods enthusiastically. 

“Myself? Oh, fine, fine. Traveled all the way here to see all of the cadets and handle some business. I do enjoy the festivities.” The man smiles, a pleasant laugh escaping his lips as he sinks down into a seat at the table. It does not bode well for Crystal getting any sort of reprieve anytime soon. 

“The politicians are talking politics, and the military men about the military. You know how it goes. And something about machines—some new kind of Void-killer weapons from Juno. Supposed to be completely automated, can you believe that? I’ll believe it when I see it.” The man huffs, continuing, “After all, only one thing’s proven to work so far.” A knowing glance is cast at Crystal, indicating that she is, in fact, the thing.

He changes tack a moment later, after a sip from the glass of wine that he’s carried over with him. “Why aren’t you out dancing? It looks like all of your friends are out there. Do you need a partner?” A moment of thought and the man snap his fingers. “You know, my nephew is attending the Academy as well, I can introduce you. He’s around here somewhere...” 

The man cranes his neck, turning in his chair to scan the dance floor. 
[/hider]