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"I most certainly have never done such a thing ever-" She wasn't accusing you, Bastion, she was joking. Joking. His throat closed up with embarrassment as he realized it too late, and he looked up and away, as he swung them to one side. He could hear the swish of her dress against the floor as he led her. He felt like all of the work he'd managed to do, chipping away at his insecurities, was being wasted. He took a deep, cleansing breath, and his eyes met hers for the first time, with determination.

"I'm fine, Mjoll." Still scratchy, and too quiet, but his voice held a quiet strength that he knew he'd never managed around her. Things were different now. Mjoll was just Mjoll. Not some untouchable thing. And he could simply talk to her like a person, if he just tried.

So he tried.

"The world's a fool, if no one asked for your hand. But I think we already knew the world was a fool. Are you at least enjoying yourself? I see you've made friends with the students as well."

Soren was happy to let her lead the dance, finding that moving his hips with hers was familiar enough to keep up. Once he felt comfortable enough with the movements he dared to devote more of his attention to the surroundings, scanning the crowd for more than just potential threats.

He was pleased to have made his...the priestess happy, hearing Neru laughing and enjoying herself. So when he felt the break in her movements, felt the tension seep through her, flowing through her fingers and using him as an outlet. He was instantly on his guard, the urge to put himself between her and the threat almost overpowering as his eyes tried to follow her line of vision.

All he really saw were other dancers, one of which was a death horsewoman that he recognized by sight alone and he tried to place her. "How can I serve you," he questioned, the words familiar on his tongue as he moved his hand to cover hers on his opposing arm.

Giving Mot a rather large pout, she continued to let herself be swayed by the lanky boil. She could just suck it up and deal with the fact that she'd have to live with ten gallon hats and boots for the rest of her unlife if their relationship continued, or she could get back at him somehow.

Like making his coffee decaf. Yes, that'd be a good one. A secret smile splayed on his lips as she went up to kiss him. "Oh, I'm sure the old west will treat me quite well."

Medea help him, why was she mentioning her underwear. He'd just said he was fine, but his cheeks had turned a permanent shade of purple, and it almost looked like he was holding his breath, because that particular shade definitely seemed reminiscent to dying of asphyxiation.

She wanted someone to win her doll trinkets in games. What Mjoll wanted was an appropriate date, and she hadn't gotten it. And somehow, that almost made Bastion feel.. better. Because, for so many countless years, he'd watched her, pined for her, wished for her. And now, for the first time in.. in ever, really, she wished for something, too.

And for once, it was nice to be the one not pining.

Perhaps it was a selfish thought. But it emboldened him, and it made the hatred he felt for himself, the shame, the disgust, slowly fade away.

Until she tried to say his name.

Even now. Even now, she couldn't be bothered to say it right. When she'd cut it short, his face tightened, and his brows furrowed. He looked down at her, his glowing eyes darkening with a sudden intensity he hadn't known was there, and he frowned deeply in what felt like anger, but truly was just despair.

"Bastion." His hand reached up, off of her waist, and it pinched her chin softly between his thumb and finger. "My name is Bastion, Mjoll. It has always been Bastion. All this time." His eyes flickered away, staring at the ground grumpily. "All this time."

He let her chin go, and his hand returned to its place. "It's not a hard name. And I've always known how to dance. You've just never had your eyes on me long enough to notice."

She sighed, as he turned purple; wondering what in Medea's name was wrong with him. Of course it was until the moment that he'd grabbed her chin that her puzzled expression turned to one of remorse? It was hard to explain the expression that went deep into her eyes as she watched him.

Before pulling away a bit as he he chided her on it her back wings curling around her dress. "Haven't you ever noticed I never had my eyes on anything but my work?" They were standing there on the dance floor things growing a little more awkward for her, unsure of how she was feeling but she sighed.

"I guess you really didn't if you never noticed how hard I fought to keep Medea's attention and the others; to try and earn the title of best crafter and to be prefect at everything." She used her thumb to wipe at her eyes. Her wings were still wrapped around her waist as she began to back up. Ashamed? Perhaps...

Mjoll wasn't even sure of what she was thinking before eventually just lifting her head and looking at Bastion, "I'm sorry, I'm just not up to finishing our dance. Perhaps later?" She picked up her dress and headed for the door. She needed to get her head straight if she could, she needed to figure things out. This wasn't the place and something just told her to stop before they caused a scene in prom that would likely ruin it for everyone.

Nergui actually jumped when Soren's voice came like a peel of thunder beside her ear. Not loud per-say, but filled with that purpose she knew drove him, and it made her tense in his arms for just an instant before she forced herself to relax, muscles unclenching an inch at a time until she was merely standing there in his arms, his hand a reassuring weight on her own where it clutched at his arm. She blinked, tearing her gaze away from the jewelcrafter so she could look up at the guardian, then turned in his arms so she could hide her face against his bare chest.

Her voice was a murmur, and had the song not changed to something far softer it would have been impossible to hear. "Do not let me do anything foolish." It was an admittance that she didn't trust herself, and with the voices a babbling presence, quiet until now, she could make no promises on her behavior.

She stayed like that, arms folded up so her palms lay spread along his rib cage, cheek a flushed warmth against his heart, until the seething anger wasn't half so blazing. A second glance was chanced, and for the second time in a minute the mare found herself startled. Bastion was dancing with Mjoll, and more shocking still, his features were hard, determined, and though she could not hear him, she could see that their conversation was no idle thing.

It waved away whatever lingering flare of rage the priestess felt, and she actually took a small step back, straining to see the couple as they danced, before reaching out for Soren's hand and sliding back into place within his arms. Relief was dominating her features as she slid her hands up to cup tanned cheeks, leading the guardian down to her so she could catch his lips in a lingering kiss before releasing him and drawing his arms around her again, resuming the dance that had been derailed.

Bastion had watched Mjoll from afar for so many years. She was wrong; he'd seen how hard she worked. How desperate she was for their dearest Medea's attention. It was one of many reasons why he'd been so enthralled with her from the beginning. She was so motivated, so focused, so determined..

And maybe that was part of why he'd always been so afraid to ever try. To compete with that fervent need for perfection was to require yourself to be perfection. And Bastion was anything but.

She ran from him, and it felt so familiar. He realized that he'd seen this vision a million times before; every time he tried to imagine what it would be like to actually talk to Mjoll, he saw her running away from him. And there she went, just like he'd imagined it. But when he waited for the heartache that he always felt before, it never came. The overwhelming sense of emotion that filled him wasn't pain, or anger, or even heartbreak.. it was pity.

The only question left was whether or not she regretted the choices she'd made in her life, as well. Because it was suddenly crystal clear to Bastion that Mjoll had cut herself off from the world - and the world was starting to move on without her.

He followed her as she left the prom, but he didn't stop her. She deserved; no, she needed the time alone, with her thoughts. So he stopped at the door, and before she was out of earshot, he left her with one single kernel of truth; something she deserved to hear. Something she probably didn't even realize for herself, just as he'd never realized he could be better than he was, until now.

"You never had to work, to be perfect."

She deserved to know that much. Whether or not she ever believed it, was her decision to make.

There was a pause in her step, such simple words caused her to pause and glance back for a second. Her eyes glistening in the moonlight, she seemed to take a moment to think before taking a moment to turn and move back to him.

She swallowed her feelings just long enough to pull him into a hug and quickly kiss his cheek offering a soft, "I'm sorry..." She didn't know why but she felt she owed him that much and more; but that was all she could get out without crying right there. She didn't need to cry here, he didn't need that weight of her guilt on his shoulders. She lost one of her shoes while she was fleeing away from the dancing and cheerfulness of the big top, and from those songs.