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[revolutionne]

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[revolutionne]

[ Aymeric has rarely given credit or credence to whispers and rumors--such a thing would have held him back long ago. Necessary to be aware of, yes, but never to be behold to. Even so, he still finds himself silently praying to the Fury that any interested parties do not take the sight as for anything other than what it is--a simple escort of a noble lady back to the party. (And even more so, anyone who is brave enough to try and garner Dibionne's interest not be dissuaded from doing so. He can dreams...)

To some extent, despite his growing popularity over the years, Aymeric still finds himself unaccustomed and ill-prepared in dealing with such overt interest. Most Ishgardian customs allow for multiple avenues to politely decline, yet Lady Dibionne's persistence is...admirable. In a way.

Aymeric readily accepts the glass despite the number he has all ready imbibed, feeling that the conversations he has been entertaining were painfully sobering. Instead he lets Emmanellain's good nature work as a balm and returns with a smile of his own, mirror the toast. ]

May they keep me appropriately preoccupied in the weeks to come.

[ He absolutely will drink to that. ]

I do hope my plight has not been too much of a distraction to your own affairs.

[thelofty]

[ After an enthusiastic sip of his wine to complete the toast, Emmanellain lowers his glass, quick to shake his head and wave off Aymeric's contrite politeness. As Camp Dragonhead's new garrison commander, and relied upon now to attend functions both within Ishgard and on distant shores, his own days have in fact become busier than they once were, but these galas are one thing on which he can pride himself. He's in his element, mingling with the guests, all ears for their stories — he can juggle the lot alongside Ser Aymeric's plight!

His smile widens, meant to reassure. ]

A distraction? Not at all! I was making my rounds, as one does — nothing terribly pressing. And Honoroit must be just as glad as I am that you confided in us!

[ Honoroit speaks up then, with a nod, while Emmanellain lifts his glass to his lips a second time. "My lord's evening was unusually uneventful, in some respects."

Something in the boy's tone suggests that in others, the evening has unfolded as expected. It leads Emmanellain to cock his head, quizzical. ]

...Well, now that you mention it, I daresay an uneventful evening makes me the envy of men like Ser Aymeric. [ He looks back up at the lord commander. ] Do they ever let you rest?

[revolutionne]

[ Aymeric raises his brows and makes a vague attempt to hide some of his amusement at Honoroit's commentary. Though he is fairly confident that the sort Emmanellain would prefer to busy himself with is likely out of Aymeric's own realm of enjoyment. How much has Honoroit born witness to? The boy can likely weave quite the tale...

He chuckles lightly with a shake of his head. ]

If it be your wish, I would gladly give you the honor of entertaining, Lord Emmanellain.

[ Of which he would surely excel at. ]

'Twould be remiss of me to say that I do not find enjoyment in socializing, taxing though it can be in the presence of certain companies. A part of me does yet long for the nights of wine and dancing rather than...well, wine and politics.

[ Wine is really just a standard in Ishgard interactions. But making sure he has had a proper introduction to all the right people has become quite time-consuming in recent years, and especially of late. So much effort is spent putting on appearances that sometimes it is easy to forget to simply enjoy a party. ]

That is to be expected, I'm afraid.

[ As remorseful as his words may seem, he keeps a light tone as he takes another sip from his glass. ]

I imagine you yourself have been approached a few times this eve about the comings and goings in Camp Dragonhead?

[thelofty]

[ All the wine in Ishgard's every cellar couldn't hope to make a remedy for the dryness of long bells of politics, Emmanellain thinks, half in earnest. Precisely that is on the tip of his tongue, a show of sympathy to offer, but he swallows it with another mouthful of his drink as Aymeric redirects the conversation slightly. There's no helping it: the ensuing pause must speak volumes.

Camp Dragonhead's comings and goings are his responsibility, and he delivers his reports and the like, but he isn't Haurchefant. He has a steep uphill climb ahead, still, before he can honestly call himself worthy of his brother's post. He knows that. He can guess at the sorts of comparisons drawn between them.

In the eyes of the men and women loyal to their valorous late commander, he can't be an ideal replacement. ]

I... [ Suddenly somewhat subdued, Emmanellain clears his throat, tapping his thumb against the side of his glass. ] A few times, yes — enough to keep a man from the dance floor, if not the refreshments. My brothers ever faced the brunt of it, I suppose, much like you do.

[ His gaze drifts beyond the alcove, across the room, seeking at least Artoirel's austere figure in the crowd. ]

[revolutionne]

[ There is really no way around the comparison--intended or otherwise. A successor will always be compared to their predecessor, but the circumstances leading to Emmanellain assuming his post are not the ones he would likely have chosen.

Still, Aymeric is at least someone who does not expect Emmanellain to be anyone other than himself. He has grown much as a person and in responsibility over a short amount of time. ]

Truly?

[ A heavier subject than Aymeric intended, it seems, and he raises a brow at the younger man. ]

I had thought that there was naught to keep you from either.