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Estinien looks a little flustered when they are met with Alfred, both because he doesn't seem to be buying Aymeric's excuse and also because he's been sent a bit off-kilter by this whole situation. He's gone from expecting to face jail to having Aymeric cook for him, and he isn't sure what to make of that.

One could interpret this as him having done well, somehow. Yet, Estinien is still cautious in that assessment.

Estinien follows him to the kitchen all the same - it's not a place in the manor they've spent much time in, considering. He watches his friend quietly, his armed crossed as they usually are when he's in unfamiliar territory. At least the food Aymeric mentions is something he's had before, but still not something Estinien himself would have any idea how to cook.

"Sounds appetizing," he says, at a loss for better works. He'll be watching extra close as Aymeric gets to work. "Do you often... cook?"

Or whatever this is. He hadn't thought Aymeric would be required to.

Any man should know his way around his own house, no matter what the room, but the way Aymeric moves about his kitchen suggests that he does more than round up food every now and then and wait for his meals to be prepared. He readily grabs an apron from the closet and starts to pull out the pots and ingredients.

"Not often, but I do find it relaxing, in a way." He turns on the stove and sets the pot and a bit of oil to begin heating as he immediately moves to start chopping the onions.

"It has proven to be useful when we are out on the field from time to time." Estinien may or may not have noticed that Aymeric did tend to offer to man the rations or fire if there was a meal to cook, although such actions then hardly took much skill.

"What sort of cheese would you prefer?"

The truest answer is that it 'doesn't really matter', but with Aymeric clearly putting so much of his heart into this, Estinien is endeavoring not to be a brick wall. He's usually not the sort that makes requests, most often abiding but what is already on offer. He glances around the kitchen, like he's not quite sure what he should be doing with himself.

"Well... the kind I am most accustomed to is that made with karakul cheese." Of course, when they had first discussed his knowledge of the animals, Aymeric had remarked that he was unfamiliar with the practice of their milking, so he assumes that it isn't available. "But I am certain whatever you have on hand will suffice."

He supposes he has seen Aymeric handling rations fairly often, but he had always just assumed that it was something he did out of a generous spirit rather than anything else. He feels a flicker of anger when he is reminded of the way Aymeric's good nature has been taken advantage of recently, and how that snake Triaraut had tried to shame him with it.

He's going to be thinking about that man's smug face for a while - though at least he can also recall the addition of red wine.

Aymeric does smile a little at that. "I had wondered, but I did not want to assume as much." What with Estinien raising them after all, but that did not necessarily mean he preferred it. That being said, he puts down his knife to retrieve a few options of cheese...

...one of which is decidedly karakul. Aymeric sets them out on the counter.

"I confess that after you mentioned it the first time you came over, I had been keen to try it myself." To his credit he looks just a tad sheepish about it. "Mayhaps we create something of our tradition and combine a few? Karakul and...Trou du Cru may go well together. What do you think?"

When it comes to food, familiarity could breed the strongest affection, and that's certainly true of Estinien. Given that he's never been particularly thoughtful or adventurous about what he eats, most of what he finds draws his attention is whether he's seen something before. Sometimes it can be entertaining to eat something completely foreign to him, but when he simply wants for nourishment, the familiar is the most reliable.

His surprise when Aymeric reveals that he has some of the stuff around is obvious. It feels... pointed, in a way. Something he clearly went out of his way to do, either because he envisioned this moment, or because he's just been so curious to try something Estinien had told him about.

It inspires some strong emotions, which simmer in his chest. They are mostly positive, he thinks, there is some bittersweetness there as well - something about the experience of being known almost makes him feel helpless. As if a hook has been placed within him, so easily able to tug at his heart. He tries to keep the struggle from his face, though he has clearly dipped into one of his more thoughtful moods.

"I know little of the latter, but I will trust your sensibilities." It's entirely possible he's had it, but just never put a name to what it was. "...Is there going to be an onion selection process as well?"

Managing a bit of humour, at least, though it's also a real enough question.

It is nigh impossible not to notice the shift in his demeanor. Aymeric has long since learned that gestures of familiarity are not always taken with an easy smile and he can guess as much that the fact Aymeric happens to have karakul cheese on hand may seem a tad suspicious. (Over-invested, maybe?) So he feels the need to explain,

"I requested it once to try it and the staff has since decided to make sure that we do not run out."

He hopes that paints an easier picture to view, less imposing on Estinien's own sensibilities.

The fact that the other man does attempt a joke eases things a bit for Aymeric as well, who smiles as he returns to slicing the onions.

"Alas, we have but one kind in stock. Mayhaps another time we can be even more adventurous with our flavor palette."

The steps go quickly--add the onions, simmer, add minced garlic, simmer. Aymeric narrates a few of the steps along the way mostly to keep the kitchen from falling to silent, though he generally finds most silences with Estinien at this point companionable. He just does not want his friend to feel put upon.

Once the cooking wine is added, the broth reduced, herbs and spices, and set to cook again, Aymeric puts a lid on the pot and steps back. He begins to untie the apron as he speaks.

"Well, that will be cooking for a while. Shall we select a few drinks from the cellar and then see what Orchestrion rolls we have on hand?"

Estinien's interest is easily expressed by the fact that he keeps hovering around Aymeric while he cooks, apparently somewhat engaged by the act. Whatever concerns he had about the cheese situation seem to be fleeting, because while he does retain a somewhat thoughtful disposition through the rest of the process, it doesn't seem like it's because he's bothered.

He makes idle chatter and when Aymeric explains what he's doing he even asks a few questions. There isn't anything that complicated about it, but he realizes how rare it is for him to witness someone cooking in such a personal context. Historically it has been communal eating areas with simple food, and earlier than that, Alberic had been just as utilitarian as Estinien himself would end up being. Neither of them were good for much, that way.

So, of course, it pulls him back to the only other option - the time before. Of course it would. Where else would these fond memories of the food have come from? It's the second time these sorts of feelings have been stirred, and though it's difficult for him, it's also endearing on a level that's too deep to grapple with.

Thankfully, he doesn't have to, because soon enough they are moving on.

"Is the Orchestrion in the cellar as well?" he asks. "It would be unkind to wake the whole household." It's starting to get late, he realizes.

Aymeric takes pause as if he had not considered the notion at all. Though, he realizes, the outposts in Coerthas and the barracks at the Congregation were hardly known for privacy or...soundproofing. That Borel Manor be built of heavy stone and wood of centuries past could easily make it an echo chamber all in its own.

"It is in the dining room," he says simply. The dining room, when hosting a party, can be converted into a more communal area with the table removed. They had no such large halls as the High Houses so they make due with what they have. He does offer a smile "Both my mother and Alfred's quarters are on the other side of the manor. They shall go undisturbed."

The cellar--the site of their first real night as friends. He looks back on those memories fondly, as well as the others made in the moons that followed. He knows by now a few of the bottles that Estinien has favorably praised and selects one on habit alone.

"Fury, I cannot recall what Count Edmont had selected for his own banquet. I suppose it matters not. This is our party now, after all." He waves the bottle merrily at Estinien.

"Would you do me the favor of selecting our second bottle for the night?"

He makes a sweeping gesture towards the cellar at large.

When he first encountered the cellar, Estinien had no idea where to start. Thankfully, a year of conversations and drinks with Aymeric have done something to flesh out his knowledge of the collection. He recognizes the bottle that Aymeric picks, for instance, and is pleased with the choice. But what else?

He nods in acceptance of the quest, and then wanders a ways down the row. He doesn't know in particular he is craving, but given that the night is currently being driven by strange and unexpected turns, he decides to find something completely on a lark. Something that catches his eye, even for simply aesthetic reasons.

...Which he ends up finding in the form of some kind of green liquid, set in the back of the row, as if it didn't have anything else to be sorted by. He plucks it out and brings it back, almost as if in challenge. He squints about the label.

"Wormwood, apparently," he says, showing it to Aymeric. "Of Gridanian import?"

Aymeric is admittedly curious to what Estinien will pick, mostly because he knows that Estinien's opinions about alcohol revolve around if he can drink it or not. They will probably be avoiding the few bottles they know will knock them straight back on their arse, or so he thinks, until Estinien comes out with an import.

His brows raise an ilm, then he smiles with a nod.

"The nature of Gridanian spirits can make you feel as if you are truly there, or so I have heard." Aymeric motions for Estinien to follow him back up the stairs. "My father was keen on collecting 'unusual' bottles when he could. I cannot say I have actually tried that one. A fitting choice, my friend. Tonight is a night of many firsts."

Estinien follows Aymeric back to the main floor, feeling more engaged than usual with the idea of the mysterious drink he found, that even his host isn't that familiar with. He's never been to Gridania, despite often hearing things compared to it, but he had been fascinated with the idea of it since the days of his youth.

He did notice the bottle is fairly high alcohol content, so he's going to avoid having a repeat of that first cellar night. Especially if they are meant to be dancing at some point, which... yes, he remembers, that is what Aymeric is planning, even if he still finds himself a bit confused. Regardless, it seems like he'll probably be staying the night at this point.

Coming back up to the main floor just makes the sent of the soup more obvious, and Estinien is being forced to contend with the fact that he didn't eat much before the party. He'd been expecting to eat while he was there, yet the combination of being late and immediately going on a diversion meant that he hadn't had much but a few pastries.

The promise of a midnight meal and further drink is seeming increasingly appealing, and despite feeling a bit adrift in the circumstances, he realizes that he's actually in fairly high spirits as well. It's quiet, private, yet spontaneous - much like most of the best moments so far.

The next time Aymeric glances in his direction, he may notice that he's smiling a bit more broadly than usual.

"Come to think of it, exploring the great trees of the Twelveswood would make for quite a sight," he muses. "Scaling them would be of little hardship, with what I've learned."

Edited 2020-11-08 00:07 (UTC)

He most certainly does take notice, as he always does when Estinien seems to genuinely be enjoying himself. That is really all that Aymeric wants, in the end, especially after dragging Estinien to something so far out of his element. Yet he could not be more happy with the turn of events, social faux pas included. Aymeric likes parties well enough, but they can be taxing when the need to put on airs is more important than enjoyment.

This? This is better. He can be as flippant or goofy as he wants to be with Estinien. Feeling more relaxed makes him more animated, less reserved, and he mirrors that same pleased expression that Estinien wears tenfold.

"'Tis not all that far, really," he muses aloud as he guides them to the dining room. "Perhaps a short foray into the Shroud may be warranted? After scaling the Vault you would most certainly rule the canopy." And Aymeric would very much like to watch that.

Once they are in the dining room, he takes care to shut the heavy doors behind them. It is the room on the farthest edge of the manor, closest to the Astrologicum. He does believe they will be afforded ample privacy. Setting the bottle he chose on the table, Aymeric moves to the small bar in the corner to retrieve two wine glasses. Had he felt a greater need for propriety he would have served each liquor in its own glass at the bar, but this is informal.

"Let us begin in more familiar territory," he says as he pours them each a little wine from the first bottle.

Estinien takes the wine easily, making up for what he missed out on during the party in short order. The precise type of wine wasn't important, really - both are clearly of good make, and Estinien gets into this new offering with little trouble. If anything, though, he's particularly eager to eat.

In the interest of distracting himself, he goes over to poke around at the Orchestrion that Aymeric had mentioned. He's never had one, himself, given that he rarely sought out music on his own accord. As with many things, despite his poorly refined tastes, he wasn't completely immune to its wiles.

"Hmm," he says, still thinking about the Shroud. "Would that the trees will it. Is that not the pecking order in Gridania? I wonder if the Twelveswood would be offended by my hubris."

The idea of the trees being filled with spirits that ultimately governed who was and wasn't allowed to exist among them has always filled Estinien with curiosity, while simultaneously being a good way to make a child feel thankful to live in the relatively placable mountains of Coerthas. Dragons aside, of course. Looking back, he would easily take the tree spirits.

Aymeric cannot help but outright laugh at that. If anyone were able to upset the trees themselves, it might as well be Estinien with his infamous stubbornness. He takes his own wine glass and joins Estinien at the Orchestrion, but regards his friend more than the contraption at the moment.

"Then we shall have to be on our best behavior." Their best behavior, as if Estinien is not the one who normally lacks decorum. If tonight has proven anything, it is that Aymeric clearly sees a time and place for it. "Mayhaps a peace offering would fitting? Bringing a little 'Wormwood' back to the Wood itself."

He clicks his glass with Estinien's before taking a sip, finally turning his attention to the Orchestrion.

"'Tis an older machine, but in good working order. Do tell me if you have any requests." Though he is fairly certain that Estinien does not, he always leaves the option open for his friend to speak his mind. He starts to pull out rolls of music, taking a quick glance at the title tag before sliding them back into place as he continues to hold his glass in the other hand, sipping occasionally. He did have two glasses at the party, but it does not nearly feel like enough.

Aymeric has certainly never been shy about imbibing, and Estinien's main goal is not to make himself sick. He continues to sip as well as Aymeric looks them over, leaning in to look at the labels curiously as they are sorted. He doesn't recognize most of the song titles, usually going from sound alone, but one of them catches his eye.

"Hm," he says, tapping his finger against one of the rolls Aymeric pulls. "I think I might know this one." Probably in the Forgotten Knight, or maybe some kind of street festival. He thinks it must be some kind of lively dancing music, though the specifics are hard to recall.

It brings back hazy memories of being a teen in Ishgard, back when he had still been largely unfamiliar with the city and too sullen to learn. Did he know the name from the lyrics, when there had been singing accompaniment?

"Do you?" Unexpected, but Estinien's predilection is not unwelcome in the least. Aymeric glances between his friend and the roll, visibly pleased that he has made the choice of his own accord. He nods, pulling the roll out fully and sets his glass momentarily aside on the table.

He sets the roll up to play and is pleased that it is, indeed, something a little more modern and upbeat that some of the more traditional pieces that are the usual fare in those larger High House engagements. Aymeric raises a brow as he turns towards his friend, intrigued but happy. Mayhaps a little too in either court.

"Well? Is it one you recognize?" he asks innocently as he raises his glass once again to his lips.

It takes a few moments to fully click, as the song begins building upon itself. It's the melody at the heart of it that he truly remembers, the faint idea of someone singing along to it, and the first time he ever looked upon Ishgard as anything worth seeing.

Despite having fantasized of what Ishgard might be like for most of his youth, when he finally arrived it had been in a state where hardly anything seemed to matter. Its walls held no sense of wonder, it's ancient buildings only a source of spite and despair. He was there, but nothing else was, and so it was useless - insulting that it would even pose as something to be hopeful about. It had done nothing to protect him when he needed it.

So long ago, it's hard to make distinctions or form an easy timeline. Instead, he remembers feelings more than events. He remembers hearing a song and finding comfort it in, a rare flicker of light in the dark dirge his days had become. It isn't the first time he's heard it, since then. Every time it's come up, it has stirred something in him - yet this may be the first that he's truly considered its significance rather than just pushing it out of mind.

On the outside, Estinien falls quiet, listening. As Aymeric has seen plenty of times by now, something has caused him to retreat inward - a memory that draws him back to another time that can feel so difficult to escape. Yet, he doesn't seem unhappy, specifically. Perhaps the feeling is bittersweet.

"It is," he says, remembering that he's been asked a question. He stands as if he's forgotten he's holding a drink at all, strangely still in comparison to the vigor of the music itself.

Edited 2020-11-08 03:44 (UTC)

He has seen Estinien be like this from time to time--quiet, drawn into himself and seeing things that only he can. Aymeric has since learned to wait, to watch, or avert his eyes if privacy is needed. Where Estinien goes in this moments Aymeric can only wonder, wanting to follow but understanding that there are things he may never fully see or understand about his friend. And he is all right with that as long as Estinien returns.

This is one of those moments where he seems to be stuck a little in that time and place unmentioned. So after the customary time for reflection, Aymeric takes one final sip from his glass and leaves it half-finished on the table.

"Would you do me this honor, Ser Estinien..." He then holds his hand out in invitation. "Dance with me?"

It's a question that melds in perfectly with the space he's inhabiting, but that still draws him towards the present. He remembers people dancing on the street, and the way that it had touched him, almost woken him in a sense - and in the same moment, here is Aymeric, extending a hand to invite him in. It feels impossibly perfect, in a way. That such a perfect representation of that hope could exist in parallel.

Estinien blinks at Aymeric and his hand for a moment, and finally rises to greet him. First, though, he takes a hasty gulp of his wine before setting the glass down as well. He feels like he might need it.

It's a bit fumbling, the way he accepts - he sets his hand over Aymeric's, hesitating on the way, his thoughts catching up with his body. He tries to remember the steps he was shown before.

"We're here, aren't we?" he asks in way of agreement. Just, give him a moment to figure out what to do with his feet.

Aymeric's eyes brighten when Estinien accepts, regardless of whether he was expected to or not. This song does not befit the waltz that they had practiced earlier, something a little more free-form might suffice. Yet Aymeric still starts them off in a similar position to begin with.

"Would you believe this is a roll that Alfred had bought of his own accord?" he says as they begin to move. Aymeric is keen to direct Estinien as needed, yet it is increasingly clear he is just moving them loosely to the music.

Somehow just loosely moving to the music is more challenging than following set steps - it leaves something up to interpretation, pushing into the realm of creative expression rather than just following a specific set of moves.

Yet, it feels familiar to what Estinien has seen, and Aymeric provides enough direction that he can at least follow with little issue. He wonders if he shouldn't have chosen something a bit more low key... though something slow and intimate would provide its own challenges, he realizes.

Estinien seems like he's concentrating on following Aymeric at first, but eventually, he will break away from that enough to ask: "Alfred? A connoisseur, is he?"

He wasn't sure who would have been responsible for buying music rolls, but he hadn't assumed the manservant for whatever reason.

To Aymeric, dancing is bother a learned activity as much as an expressive one. Certain choreographed sequences are indeed intended for specific pieces or sets, but there is something enjoyable about a little freeform as well. Much less common amongst nobility, yet the Forgotten Knight has seen its fare share of impromptu dance parties.

He knows well that Estinien has a natural grace on the battlefield and he also now knows that he can apply it to the dance floor...should he feel comfortable enough to do so. He had quickly picked up on the moves that Aymeric had taught him in the street, he only need the confidence to let them flow and interpret them as he wishes now.

"It was a piece he heard and found he rather liked, so he added it to the collection. Having long served the Borel Household for generations, he has become a member of the family. Music is not the only area in which he has discerning tastes."

Aymeric speaks of him warmly. While he likes to believe he is on good terms with all the staff in the manor, Alfred has always been someone he's felt closest to.

"I am sure he would be delighted to know you have a common interest."

He's not sure he would define it as an interest... would he? It's something he's familiar with, something that brings back memories, but... surely nothing more than that.

Lack of comfort definitely seems to be Estinien's main issue here. He easily has the dexterity and the capacity to remember patterns, but as they stand together and move to such joyful music, he finds it difficult to put anything of himself in that context.

If only it operated by the rules of pragmatism that govern the battlefield. He knew where he had to go, how he had to move, because of the necessity of the fight. There was an end goal he could see. This, though... the only goal is Aymeric, isn't it?

To be with him, to share something with him. As much as he tries, there are parts of himself he can bear to leave exposed - as if to open them would lose him his control. Why is it that when he reaches out in these gestures that the gap between him and others only seems to yawn wider?

He moves out of step, falling out of the rhythm with Aymeric and having to stop himself. He pulls away a hand, trying to recalibrate.

"I... Apologies," he says. He's trying to get back into step, but it does still seem like he is holding himself back from really getting into it.

Truly, Aymeric pays no mind to any missteps. That is the point of doing something other than a standard dance, is it not? But it clearly bothers Estinien as he pulls back and apologizes. So Aymeric pauses as well, tilting his head lightly to the side. Though Estinien did pick the music, mayhaps it is a little too free for someone so unaccustomed to the pastime? For as unwieldly as Estinien can be, he does seem to do better with some standards and guidelines to follow.

So Aymeric just smiles and shakes his head. "There is nothing to apologize for. Perhaps we can find a different roll...and we should try that lovely green drink you found as a little inspiration?"

Yes, he can pick something a little less upbeat, something easier to follow so that Estinien can feel like he can readily apply the knowledge he has gained.

Aymeric makes quick work of what is left of his drink before going right to the Wormwood bottle. Upon opening it, a strange new aroma takes the air and his brows raise quite high on his forehead.

"That is unexpected," he says as he offers his friend a whiff should he choose to let curiosity get the better of him as well. It does smell quite woody, and strangely spicy on the edges. Aymeric swirls the bottle around a little before offering to fill up Estinien's glass, and then his own.

When he first heard this sort of music, it has seemed a flicker of hope - an ideal of the happiness that could be found in even such an imposing place. Yet, even with Aymeric, Estinien can feel himself failing to live up to that spirit. There's a openness in this music that he can't seem to match, and trying sets him off balance.

He looks subtly disappointed in himself when Aymeric finally stops as well, like he's hasn't captured what he thought he would. Yet, Aymeric still managed to ease his worries with that next suggestion. With some relief he nods his head, moving to finish off his own wine to give the new stuff a try.

He gives it a smell when offered, an eyebrow raising in turn. Not bad, exactly, but parts of it smell more like a tincture.

"Well, it is green," he reasons, accepting the offer to fill his glass. Swirling it around, observing the color, he finally takes a sip. His brow immediately furrows.

"Seven hells," he rasps.

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