[ Ford is both highly analytical and not terribly socially intelligent, so he immediately sets to puzzling over, without much success, what it means that Ozpin is electing to let him take the lead in this situation. Is it a peace offering to cede that degree of control of the situation? Is he giving Ford another chance to back out? Does he just not know where the private rooms are? Without his focus directly on Ozpin he has nothing to do but consider the implications - and without his focus on Ozpin his mind is finally clear enough for him to wonder if perhaps his trepidation isn't a sign. He's not really past the point of no return yet. At any moment he could turn around, say he's changed his mind, and leave the Red entirely.
Instead he keeps walking, heels tapping softly against the bloodstone tiles of the Red as he leads Ozpin away from the bar and dance floor. They never truly leave that main hall, but the open floor gives way to corridors of wood partitions and velvet curtains. Each room stands in isolation, set apart from the others by a few feet, and the ones that are unoccupied are easily identified by the ropes holding open the curtains that serve as doors. Ford walks until he finds one surrounded by unoccupied neighbors and finally comes to a stop, reaching out to pull the curtain further back and allow Ozpin to step through first.
The interior is about what one might expect. Lunar orbs emitting a soft, faintly red-tinted glow line the walls. A table in the corner sports a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice alongside two champagne flutes. There's ample seating, including a few plush armchairs and a chaise lounge too large to be considered a couch but not quite the right size or shape to be called a proper bed. The walls are dotted with strategically placed hooks and loops and there are several small wood chests placed in such a way that one never has to stray too far from their seat to reach one. Overall, it's an incredibly unsubtle room that stays just discrete enough to maintain a degree of class.
Ford steps into the room after Ozpin and lets the curtain fall shut behind him. The steady pulse of the music grows muffled and distant as the curtain falls into place, the heavy velvet and what Ford suspects is a bit of spellcraft further insulating them from the rest of the party. There's a heavy finality it, a finality that makes Ford realize he has no idea how he wants to proceed. The desire to get this over with and his dislike of awkward silences run up against his unease over ruining the mood, but after a moment the former wins out. ]
I don't suppose either of us need more champagne.
[ It's probably not wise to call attention to the fact that neither of them are totally sober right now, but it's not any more unwise than anything else he's done tonight. ]
no subject
Instead he keeps walking, heels tapping softly against the bloodstone tiles of the Red as he leads Ozpin away from the bar and dance floor. They never truly leave that main hall, but the open floor gives way to corridors of wood partitions and velvet curtains. Each room stands in isolation, set apart from the others by a few feet, and the ones that are unoccupied are easily identified by the ropes holding open the curtains that serve as doors. Ford walks until he finds one surrounded by unoccupied neighbors and finally comes to a stop, reaching out to pull the curtain further back and allow Ozpin to step through first.
The interior is about what one might expect. Lunar orbs emitting a soft, faintly red-tinted glow line the walls. A table in the corner sports a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice alongside two champagne flutes. There's ample seating, including a few plush armchairs and a chaise lounge too large to be considered a couch but not quite the right size or shape to be called a proper bed. The walls are dotted with strategically placed hooks and loops and there are several small wood chests placed in such a way that one never has to stray too far from their seat to reach one. Overall, it's an incredibly unsubtle room that stays just discrete enough to maintain a degree of class.
Ford steps into the room after Ozpin and lets the curtain fall shut behind him. The steady pulse of the music grows muffled and distant as the curtain falls into place, the heavy velvet and what Ford suspects is a bit of spellcraft further insulating them from the rest of the party. There's a heavy finality it, a finality that makes Ford realize he has no idea how he wants to proceed. The desire to get this over with and his dislike of awkward silences run up against his unease over ruining the mood, but after a moment the former wins out. ]
I don't suppose either of us need more champagne.
[ It's probably not wise to call attention to the fact that neither of them are totally sober right now, but it's not any more unwise than anything else he's done tonight. ]