revolutionne | ❧ open post

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.

He had meant it mostly as a joke, though he does hold the hope that Estinien might grace him with his presence at another engagement sometime in the future. Not the near future, likely, though he does belief that any potential harm done to his reputation will be washed over with time.

Aymeric gives a light huff, allowing his gaze to fall to Estinien's shoulder, now only a handful of ilms away.

"There are many ways to earn a reputation within certain circles in this city, though I can only imagine what progress we might make had those efforts be placed elsewhere."

Estinien furrows his brow. Is Aymeric suggesting that people linger at parties simply so that others know that they do? Sometimes he feels like noble life really is beyond him.

This, at least, doesn't seem so bad. After mirroring the movements a few times, they are easy to repeat, and it takes little thought to keep it up. Just as Aymeric had promised. The glass of wine and mysterious green drink are starting to have some effect, as well, blurring his thoughts ever so slightly as his movements begin to feel simultaneously more fluid and more heavy.

Estinien huffs out a sound of disbelief, but otherwise falls silent. It's increasingly hard to take all of this lightly. Them, alone, dancing together past midnight, after everything else they did that night... it weighs on his heart, even if not in necessarily a bad way. It's simply a reality that is hard to ignore.

If Aymeric looks up, he may find Estinien's grey eyes lingering right on his face, his gaze unconcealed and searching. His hand at Aymeric's waist grips a little more tightly.

It is a silly thing, isn't it? As accustomed as Aymeric has become to many of the peculiarities of nobility, there are still instances that make him shake his head. Practices that, even while they do no harm, are essentially pointless. He entertains what he must to maintain good enough standing for his family and for his own larger goals, yet there are many notions that he simply observes if he bothers with them at all.

Parties are indeed such a place to observe a good portion of them. He really does not blame his friend for wanting no part in it.

Estinien's silence is not unsurprising, yet the pressure at his waist is enough to raise Aymeric's eyes to the other man's face. It hits him all in the same instant--the proximity, the warmth of Estinien's hand at his waist and the other in his, how easy it would be to take a sweeping step forward, how the mix of grey and blue in Estinien's eyes make him think fondly of summer storms.

It is that thought that hits him harder than most. It must be the wine, he reasons, that ridiculous Wormwood concoction that settles so uneasily in his stomach. Yet wine or no, he finds those eyes searching his and cannot bring himself to look away. Fighting the heat that threatens to rise to his cheeks and up the back of his neck--that has to be the wine, most assuredly--he offers a tentative smile that reaches his own eyes, turning their movements slowly to the song with each step. Yet for the first time in a while, he says nothing, not wanting to break the moment.

Estinien feels a matching burn, though not in his face and neck - instead, it lingers in his heart. It's a warmth that borders on ache, the edge of where comfort becomes pain.

He had never thought that he would care so deeply for another again... and yet here he is. He's allowed this man, this comrade, this friend to leave his mark, to steal into his inner world. It's at this moment that he realizes there is no escaping it. He's well a truly doomed himself.

To sever this bond would be to severe what remains of his heart.

It's a burden that no one should have to bear on his account. Aymeric is aware, to some degree, of what darkness he holds inside, but it feels in no way adequate. No one could be prepared to hold all the hope another has left. When did this happen, he wonders? Was it tonight that caused him to no longer see a way back, or had it been this way from the day Estinien had resolved to call him friend?

It brings a level of bittersweet sorrow and depth of affection that he doesn't know how to direct. Instead, he continues to hold on tightly, curling inward and closer to Aymeric as if pulled by the weight of his realization. It draws him closer, close enough that their foreheads might touch.

All the while, the music winds towards its conclusion.

Edited 2020-11-10 06:47 (UTC)

Each passing second feels like nearly a bell as the weight of Estinien's gaze settles on him, unbreaking. Aymeric swallows around a lump in his throat despite himself, hoping that the warmth of his palms is not overtly noticeable.

His dear friend is prone to moments of reflective silence, yet this time Aymeric feels as if he is being towed along by the current of his thoughts to an unknown end. Mayhaps he yields all too readily to the ebb and flow much as the movements of their feet begin to feel as if they do of their own accord, heedless of the music quieting down behind them. When their foreheads touch Aymeric cannot deny the fact that his heart flutters in his chest and that the warmth of Estinien's breath across his face makes the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

It must be the wine, he repeats the mantra inside his head as he might a memorized passage from the Enchiridion. And by the Fury's blessing, may he continue to believe it for just little longer.

Aymeric does not register that the music has stopped, his own heartbeat loud enough in his ears to make up for it. This close, Estinien's features a blur, but their noses nearly touch and he feels compelled to do or say something.

His throat feels dry so he wets his lips out of habit.

"Estinien..." he utters softly, voice deeper than usual. Tentative, as if he knows that this may be--

Crash! Something topples over in the room beside them--the kitchen.

"--the soup!"

Aymeric jerks back, fighting a losing battle against the flush on his face and ears as mental images of the metal lid of the soup mysteriously crashing to the ground and onion soup going everywhere are enough to pull him from more incriminating thoughts. He releases Estinien and rushes over to the doors, pulling them open with less force than might be imagined, and quickly making his way into the kitchen for damage control.

Though Estinien is aware that they are in close proximity, he's drifted into such a distant world that he doesn't fully contemplate the way they touch. He's thinking about Aymeric and himself and the way they are connected, but in visceral abstracts. It's only when Aymeric speaks that he comes back to himself enough to grasp it.

It's close enough to feel his warmth, close enough to feel the brush of his dark hair. Estinien's eyes widen with self awareness, only now realizing the implication of how they stand, now I'm silence.

And then there's a crash. It genuinely startles him this time, causing his heart to leap and his muscles to go taut. Aymeric realizes the source before he does. He runs of to the kitchen and Estinien falls behind, left standing in place.

He curls his arms around himself, but not in the forbidding crossing of arms that he usual does. Instead, it feels more like he's holding himself together, only pausing to wipe a stray bit of moisture from his eye.

The distance is much needed, it seems, despite the fact that he feels the loss of Estinien's presence all too keenly as soon as he is out of range. In some strange blessing the chaos of finding his cat on the counter having knocked over a ladle and gotten into one of the cheeses--not the pot, thank the Fury--is enough to bring him back down to the ground.

What had he been thinking? Of course Aymeric has not been shy about enjoying closeness with his friend, as he sees should be perfectly acceptable, yet that was most definitely a line that had been crossed.

A line...that was much too easy to toe the edge of. His heart is still racing as he shoos Ser Croquembouche down off the counter, sets the ladle to the side to wash, and checks on the soup.

"Just on time, it seems..." How...fortuitous.

Aymeric serves up the soup into two bowls, shredding cheese on top and setting them into the oven to bake. He slices some bread to crisp next to them on the rack as well before cleaning up the rest of his workstation (and the scavenging that his cat has taken to.) Easy to go through the motions, simple steps.

One, two, three, four...

Yet it is not the rhythm of the song that makes his blood pump more wildly. He has never parted from a dance partner at any part prior and felt such a strange combination of high and low. Aymeric pauses at the sink, feeling Croquembouche rubbing against his leg. He glances down at the white feline, but does not smile and murmurs low,

"I cannot well blame the wine...can I?"

Estinien stands in silence, feeling as if he's lost his mind. It's not as if emotions were incapable of seizing him, he has to fight their encroach frequently, but something about this has struck him dumb. The realization of what it could mean, of what he's allowed himself to do...

He's afraid. That's what it is, deep down. He's left himself unprotected, and now he can feel that exposed piece of him beneath the blade, waiting for it to drop. Even now, the tendrils of deeply ingrained fear suggest to him that the outcome he dreads is an inevitability.

Why is it so... difficult? After years of holding them all, even his own guardian, at a distance, now...

He hears Aymeric working in the kitchen, as the feelings of panic linger in his chest. His eyes rove to the glasses on the table - still mostly full with green drink. He realizes his hand is shaking when he reaches to reclaim his, and puts down a gulp of it like the medicine it tastes like. If he cannot control this, if he cannot force these feelings down, then he will never accomplish anything.

He wipes his mouth, allowing the liquor to settle. His eyes linger on the doors ahead, the ones that Aymeric passed through. Slowly, he moves to them, but he can't quite push through. His hand rests against the wood, his ears perked to the sounds within, but he can't bear to move.

The crisping of bread and the melting of the cheese only takes a few minutes, giving Aymeric enough time to finish his cleaning activity. He spares a few glances now and then to the doorway to the kitchen, half-expecting Estinien to follow. It remains only Aymeric and Ser Croquembouche, rubbing against Aymeric's ankles in the hopes that he may drop something tasty onto the floor.

Had...Estinien left? Had he pushed that line too far? Damn it all, Aymeric had been much to keen to dance. Teaching Estinien to dance in preparation for the party had been something of a necessity as much as it was an amusement, but this had been purely for pleasure. Can he wave that off and not make it awkward?

Is Estinien yet questioning Aymeric's motives in inviting him to stay longer?

Is Aymeric questioning his own?

He worries his bottom lip, knowing full well that he has a tendency to overthink, but he cannot help the growing fear in his heart. Too bold. He had gotten much too comfortable and too bold. This may yet just be...a passing fancy, excitement from all they had shared the eve thus far. They can come back from a simple awkward interlude.

Can't they?

When the cheese has spotted appropriately brown, Aymeric retrieves the dishes with oven mitts, setting them on a metal tray. The bread follows, as well as two forks and two spoons. Yet as he picks up the tray, he just stands and stares at the kitchen door.

What if he goes back into the dining hall and Estinien has left?

Aymeric shakes his head, takes a deep breath, and presses on. He will just have to accept the consequences of his actions...as always.

--But does not at all hide the relief when he sees that Estinien is still there right by the door itself. He looks a little...beside himself, but Aymeric feels a smile regardless. It makes it much easier to play off his sudden departure as just fear of the food being overdone.

"--Apologies, my friend. Apparently Ser Croquembouche has grown a pair of thumbs and found his way into the kitchen without notice. He nearly made quick work of our late dinner, too, but all is right now," he says as he walks past and towards the dining table, setting up their respective places.

Yes.

All is right now.

Estinien lingers around the doorway for an unreasonable amount of time, attempting to muster the nerve to enter. Most of all, he wants to steady himself before he does - he can't stand the idea of going in there shell shocked and misty-eyed, betraying the interior collapse he's been experiencing.

So, when Aymeric suddenly emerges with food in tow it's a bit of a mixed blessing. On one hand, he no longer needs to make that move - on the other, Aymeric probably just got a glance at him looking so out of sorts. He tries to steel himself as soon as he realizes, but the appearance clearly startles him, as he struggles to tuck some part of his reaction away.

Estinien followers him to the table on autopilot. Right, he can feel his appetite stir from the scent alone. Brushing back strands of white hair, he manages to collect himself enough to make a dry sound of acknowledgment.

"Of course it was him," he says, shaking his head. The wormwood is starting to catch up with him now, making words a bit easier, but balance slightly harder. He stares at Aymeric's hands as he sets up the food. "Bold little beast."

They will both pretend that nothing transpired between them, it seems. The food is a welcome distraction, but there is a part of Aymeric that takes it as a mixed blessing. That is something he does immediately feel guilty about. And still he shoves it aside to mull over later--why he would be remiss to forgo how much easier it will be if they simply move on and eat with no reflection.

"One can hardly blame him," Aymeric says, easily coming to his cat's defense. "He is merely following his nose." And while Aymeric does not consider himself to be a culinary expert of any sort, he does think that his creation smells decent enough.

Pulling open a drawer onto the table itself, Aymeric produces two cloth napkins. He folds them and sets them next to each place set. The tray is put to the side as he nods.

"Well, shall we?" He motions at the chairs, doing his utmost to appear as calm and at ease as possible.

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