revolutionne | ❧ open post

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.

The way Estinien states the scent as if it should be self-evident does bring a twinge of amusement to the edges of Aymeric's lips.

"Is this what green should smell like?"

Then by the Fury, what is it supposed to taste like? He takes another sniff as Estinien tries his glass and--that sounds like a ringing endorsement.

"...Strong, is it?"

Yet Aymeric finds himself punched by the taste almost instantly. The combination of bitter herbs and spices makes him cough, and the laugh at the absurdity of it. He pats his own chest to clear his throat.

"I see now why this bottle has been sitting almost full all this time!"

What in the world had his father been thinking?

Tentatively, Aymeric takes another sip to see if it goes down easier the second time and--no, unfortunately not.

"--Our Gridanian brethren--" Ahem. "Should be afforded some due respect..."

Upon having tasted it, it certainly seems like what green should smell like, but not what it should taste like. Estinien smells it again after having drunk from it, just to be sure. The aroma is certainly more palatable than the taste.

"It tastes like what a chirurgeon would place on an infected wound," he says. It's more like harsh medicine, or a salve not meant to be consumed. Still, that doesn't stop Estinien from trying again, as if to decode whatever the purpose behind this concoction is. Is it medicinal, and they somehow misunderstood?

It's more of an endurance test than anything after the first attempt, but he puts down a little more none the less. Maybe the effect of it is better than the flavour.

"I know not what ceremonial purpose this holds, but it surely cannot be purely recreational." It's easy for him to imagine it having some kind of mysterious function in forest life, though, which causes him to gaze at it with some wonder despite how unappealing it is.

"That...is an astute observation, yes." Aymeric wrinkles his nose as he looks into the cup. "I do feel as if something inside of me is being purged..."

Mayhaps that is the true intent of this? And yet there is Estinien taking another drink as well. Aymeric raises a brow.

"..."

He looks back to his drink, then to Estinien.

"Are you unable to finish yours?"

"I could finish it," he says, taking another small sip, just to show that he can. Let it be known that it isn't a matter of being unable. "...I don't think I will, though. I have need to remain on my feet."

He would like enough to think a bit less, but not enough to ruin his dexterity. They still have things to do, after all. He places his glass on the table.

"I think I will set it aside for now, to avoid purging even more later." Or, at the very least, to allow the properties of this mysterious drink to settle in.

Edited 2020-11-08 22:35 (UTC)

Aymeric gives a huff and a smile. "A wise show of restraint considering the precedent we have set in the past." Though he has to take another sip himself--also to prove that he can. Mayhaps he will do so fully once the night is over, simply so that it does not go to waste.

So he sets his glass aside as well and goes back to the Orchestrion rolls while the current set is still playing. He has a few pieces in mind and selects the first one that comes up in his search. Mid-song, he stops the current roll and makes a quick switch, letting the much calmer tones filter out through the machine and fill the room as he carefully rolls up the first.

"Mayhaps this will be more fitting?"

He enjoys the sound of the first roll even if dancing to it was proving troublesome, so part of him regrets when it's eventually silenced. He waits to hear what the next selection is, though, hearing something slower and more contemplative begin.

He leans away from the table, his brow furrowing a little. It seems fine, he thinks, but maybe he could do with some advanced planning this time.

"Which step is this?" he asks. If Aymeric can tell him what he needs to do, he's sure he can follow along. If all else fails, this wicked wormwood drink is here to further destroy his inhibitions, at least.

As Aymeric had suspected, Estinien does seem want for a little bit of foresight and structure to the moves. He nods his head as he stows the first roll away in its allotted slot before turning back to the other man.

"It can be several depending on the preferences of the dancer, but most start thusly."

He extends his hands again in a way that is similar to the waltz they had begun in a street, once again taking the leading position as he slides in closer. Aymeric guides Estinien's hand to his shoulder, taking the other in his own as his left settles at Estinien's hip.

"Though as you can well hear, this piece is based on beats of four rather than three. It is...more casual, I would say, and oft what you may hear later in the evening when wine has been readily passed about and tired feet look for something gentle to move to. I find it rather calming myself."

Estinien realizes as they do this again, that this is more physical contact that he'd usually allow. All the same, he places his hands where instructed, his expression very serious and focused as if this is a major undertaking that requires his full attention.

He can see that application of a dance that one can do while tired, perhaps with Aymeric intending to make it easier on him. Still, there is something daunting about such a contemplative pace.

'Calming' is not the exact would he would use for it.

"Taking it easy on me, then," he comments, though he won't start moving until Aymeric does. "Or is the day catcing up with you?"

Aymeric chuckles, cocking his head to the side as he steps to the side, starting them off slowly. This he knows is not the most...conventional way to dance with a friend, but he believes at this point they are anything but conventional. Aymeric reasons this may serve Estinien well at a later time. (Yes, that's why.)

"Why not a little both?" More so the former than the latter, in truth. As long as the other man doesn't mind.

"Mayhaps we may reach this part of the night at the next gala we attend and you can enjoy the sloppy steps of tired and well-drunk aristocracy attempting to be the last guest left."

"The next gala," he scoffs, ostensibly remarking on how well this one had turned out. Admittedly, it was very good in some senses, but not the sort that made him think the public at large would appreciate a repeat performance.

"I can't imagine why one would toil so determinedly to be the last one remaining." He sways back and forth easily, picking up on the pattern without much trouble. It's easier to think than it had been with the other music... which has the downside of letting him focus much more on Aymeric's general presence.

Had they ever been this physically close, before tonight? At least, in a way that wasn't dragging each other across a battlefield, or up the stairs while piteously drunk.

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