revolutionne | ❧ open post

In Aymeric's defense, this is most likely the first time Estinien has asked, perhaps giving the incorrect impression that he already knows. Already on their way, though, he can no longer ignore the thought - what does he do, once they're there, if he isn't merely shadowing Aymeric while looking dangerous?

Some of his uncertainty shows on his face as Aymeric explains, though the idea of the armory does pique his attention. The high houses are effectively their own militaries, House Fortempts in particularly guarding most of Coerthas. It would be interesting to see what they keep so close to home.

"I have admittedly been curious to see how it compares..." he admits, pondering the subject, until something earlier in Aymeric's explanation violently pings his attention away from it. Scheduled dancing.

"Wait - scheduled dancing?" he asks, turning to look at Aymeric as they walk. "Does that mean mandatory dancing?"

Ah, he's doomed.

Edited 2020-10-20 04:29 (UTC)

"Well--" Aymeric follows up quickly to try and abate any growing concern on Estinien's part. Understandable concern, as Aymeric has not once asked about the other man's prowess on the dance floor. He is a dragoon, and a skillful one at that, very aware of his own body's movements. Surely he would not have a problem.

Right?

He clears his throat again, this time behind his fist.

"Most take part, but not all. There are merely a few popular steps that one can expect at the appointed bell." He waves his hand dismissively in the air. "They are quite simple, yet none would remiss should you decline to participate, save perhaps a few curious young maidens."

Estinien may not know the steps, but given his general dexterity, it would likely be no issue for him to learn. It's more the context of it that bothers him - like so many other things, it's the idea of social performance that makes him uncomfortable. Thinking about dancing at a party like this, all he can think about is other people watching him filled with undue expectations. The idea of trying to satisfy them bothers him on a primal level.

Besides, he finds himself thinking quite vividly - he'd only really like to dance with Aymeric, anyway, and he'd rather do it alone in the wine cellar than in public view. The moment after he's thought this, and realized he'd just thought it, the air completely leaves him. That is far too much.

Aymeric may notice that Estinien is clearly struggling with something here, though maybe not exactly what. Estinien tries to drag himself out of the hole he's digging within his own mind.

"Hmph," he says, partly to himself, enforcing how unimportant it all is. "They can't be that difficult." He stares at the stones ahead of their feet.

Edited 2020-10-20 05:37 (UTC)

Aymeric does notice, how could he not? He has become quite gift of reading the room and in particular those that interest him, of which Estinien is very high on that list most of the time.

At first he feels he had been right in his initial assumption--that Estinien would be opposed to dancing, at least at a party such as this or in public at all--so when he voices his grumblings of the dance itself potentially being the issue...well, Aymeric feels suddenly motivated.

"They are not, I assure you." He takes a step forward so that he is a fulm ahead of his friend, turning ever so to half-face him as they continue apace. He extends his hand, hoping that will catch Estinien's attention if his repositioning yet had not.

"If we take but a moment, I could teach you the basic steps. I have naught a doubt in my mind that you would catch on with the same ease and grace you show in training and the battlefield."

Aymeric's sudden repositioning means that he'll have a good chance of catching the flustered expression on Estinien's face as it happens. He was already feeling oddly warm at the entire concept, but now the reality of what he was just imagining is being thrust upon him. It's like thinking of it has miraculously conjured the scenario into existence.

He looks around them, almost like he's expecting someone to be staring - but with night having fallen, and them late for their engagement, the streets are fairly empty. They are alone, in a manner of speaking. More alone than they will be at the party, at least.

He takes Aymeric's hand, doing his level best to appear otherwise disaffected. A purely practical concern, of course.

"Alright," he says. "But we best be quick about it." As if Estinien is the one who would truly care if they were late.

Aymeric blinks, eyes wide and mouth ajar despite the smile he wears. He had been expecting Estinien to scoff at the offer, not to take his hand, let alone accept. So he stares for several beats. While he wields a blade, words are quickly becoming his weapon of choice and he finds himself feeling bare without them.

There is noting at all questionable about two men dancing in the street at night. Not at all. And it is definitely not the strangest the Pillars have seen of late .

He manages to snap his mouth shut before his gawking become too awkward.

"Well then, let us begin!"

Taking their joined hands, Aymeric extends them outwards as he steps forward, chests no more than a few ilms apart. He notes it keenly. Reaching for Estinien's other, he places it on his own shoulder before settling his hand at the other man's waist, trying to keep the touch light and unobtrusive.

"Most songs come in beats of three or four, so this standard step will serve you well. When you lead, as I am now, you will set the motion and direction of the dance. As I step forward with my right foot, you should step back with your left. It is not unlike some of our sparring."

He smiles, trying to keep the mood light.

"Let's try, shall we?"

With that, Aymeric takes that step forward, expecting Estinien to follow suit.

Estinien is at least familiar enough with dancing that the general positioning of the leader and follower doesn't catch him off guard - how incredibly aware as he finds himself of the location of Aymeric's hands notwithstanding. He wonders why Aymeric was staring at him just now, briefly wondering if he had mistaken some kind of jest as sincere. He hopes not. He's not sure he could bear it.

Yet, when the lesson begins proper, he has little difficulty following along. It is like sparring, or like doing forms... except even easier when it's a matter of following a simple pattern. His movements are stiff though, and strangely mechanical - very unlike the fluidity of his motion on the battlefield. That comes naturally.

This... well, dancing with passion probably requires a kind of emotional vulnerability he still struggles to share with anyone. For Aymeric, though, it's at least closer to the surface.

"And that is meant to be entertaining?" he asks bruskly, practically performing irreverence at this point.

Aymeric chuckles, finding the quip to be something of a relaxing balm. Why had his nerves reacted so readily? This is Estinien. The man may take shots at him as much as Aymeric does in turn, but they are good-natured. Perhaps he is still simply running off his excited energy that began the evening.

"It can be enthralling with the right music and partner." And that is not a tease. Though he has had no reason to express it to Estinien before, Aymeric is very fond of dancing.

Yes--that must be it. He's fond of dancing and of Estinien. That he gets to put the two together, what is there not to be happy about?

With that little problem solved, Aymeric throws himself fully into the lesson, taking one step, then another, unsurprised to see that Estinien has the idea all ready.

"With music I imagine you will not be so stiff. Here, on my count we will start to move to the right. One, two, three--"

He starts to turn them, taking each step forward and to the side with a sway and ease to the waltz that he can hear inside his head.

Enthralling. Estinien is genuinely not sure if that's the word he would use. It's certainly getting a strong reaction out of him, as doggedly as he keeps it buried, but it's not something he can easily put a name to.

He can dimly imagine his own version of the kind of music they'd be dancing to, though it would have to be playing from an orchestrion, because in any ideal arrangement they are still alone. He finds himself even more reluctant to carry on to the party, knowing that the only part he wants of it is right here.

It's not just about that, though, he tries to remind himself. Aymeric would be going to this event with or without him. Dancing back at the manor would never happen, because he'd never have reason to ask. On some subconscious level, it sends a pang of longing through him - that isn't the kind of life he's pursuing. It would be a betrayal to do so.

He can accept much more from Aymeric than he'd be able to before, but taking it too far will only get in the way. He has to remember that. There are limits.

He stays very quiet as Aymeric shows him the steps, the look in his eyes distant even as he follows directions with graceful accuracy. Once Aymeric has gone through a few different steps, though, he finally breaks it off.

"That should be enough," he says, a bit abrupt and a bit distracted. "We'll miss the whole affair if we carry on like this and your lessons will have been for naught." He lets go of Aymeric's hand.

It's all too easy to fall into that rhythm and Aymeric is unsurprised that Estinien does as well, even considering his lack of experience on the dance floor. As self-consciousness can sometimes overtake his friend's performances in new avenues, Estinien takes to this naturally and Aymeric cannot help the swell of pride in his chest at that. Why, even in the few minutes they share he is more fluid than--

And then it is over. Aymeric looks a little surprised despite himself, but quickly forces a smile and takes a step back, giving them both a little distance, congenially spaced though it is.

"They would not be," he says, quiet but with no intent to hide the comment either way. Aymeric pivots, suddenly feeling that his hands should be doing something as they were only just so occupied and starts to fiddle with one of the clasps on his own tunic. It is not out of place.

"I would say you are a natural, Estinien, though that comes as no shock." Feeling he has sufficiently regained his composure, he gives a bow of his head and sweeps his arm outwards back towards the street. "Let us be off. As delightful as dancing can be, I fancy a drink to begin with."

He feels that he needs one. Being fidgety is unbecoming.

The streets curve up towards the Last Vigil, the open expanse of the Coerthas Highlands visible out beyond the steps and beneath the stars. To the right stands one of the most proud and stately manors in Ishgard--House Fortemps. Though they are on the later side, there are still a few notable figures filtering into the manor, so Aymeric believes they need not worry about seeming rude.

The knight positioned outside offers the two men a nod as they take the steps up to the front doors, where one of the House Stewards verifies the invitation.

"Ser Aymeric de Borel and his guest--"

"Ser Estinien Wyrmblood of the Knights Dragoon," Aymeric supplies fluidly.

The Steward nods and hands back the invitation, bowing to the two men and gesturing them inside. The entrance is flanked with a servant on either side to assist them with their coats or check any other items they do not want to have on their person--a quick but efficient process.

Another manservant bows and leads the pair towards the main hall. They pass by a few other guests on the way, most of whom pay them no mind, though Aymeric trades a practiced smile and nod with a couple. The sound of music filters down the hallway, only to be nearly drowned out by the sound of talking and clinking of glasses. The two doors to the main hall are propped open and Aymeric steps over the threshold without hesitation.

A display of wealth and wealth of individuals are what greets them--small groups and couples standing all about the room, chattering and laughing coming from every direction.

"Well," Aymeric begins, inclining his head towards his companion. "This is where the challenge truly begins."

Edited 2020-10-20 20:36 (UTC)

Estinien regrets breaking contact shortly after having done so, the surprised look on Aymeric's causing a twinge of shame. It had been a nice moment, hadn't it? Nicer than what they are going to do now, but yet his gut turns, unwilling to accept it. And then Aymeric responds and his imbalance only gets worse.

It would not be.

Something about the way he says it immediately gains Estinien's attention. What does he mean? That it wouldn't be a waste of time, even if they missed the party? It could just mean that Aymeric sees value in teaching, even just for personal growth - that feels like the kind of thing he would say. He didn't mind taking the time to educate Estinien in the many ways he was ignorant, even if it was purposeless.

...But no, that was an uncharitable way of thinking about it, a bit of snippy contrariness that bubbles up to obscure the part he's really concerned about. Was Aymeric enjoying it, too? Well, of course he was, but more so than the dozens of other little things he did? More than the many ways he would patiently guide Estinien's hand through different facets of friendship he'd so pointedly ignored...

He gets so caught up on this point that he spends the rest of the walk thinking about it, glancing aside to Aymeric every once in a while before looking away just as quickly. Is he supposed to say something? Thank him for showing him that? No, that would be cloying, especially coming from him.

He only really snaps back to himself when he hears Aymeric declaring his full title for the doorman, a term of address that still feels new in some ways. Estinien Wyrmblood of the Knights Dragoon. It's exactly what he'd wanted, isn't it?

He lets the servants take his goat without even feeling ornery about it, staring at Aymeric's shoulder as he instinctively lags behind him. This is Aymeric's court, after all - one he is coming to know as well as the battlefield, if not better. He really would feel more comfortable pursuing Aymeric like some kind of fearsome bodyguard, and really it would give a better impression of his priorities. The sheer overstimulation Estinien is going through is present on his face, and something he has to actively bite down.

Where in the seven hells are they supposed to stand? He feels like every step might do something to unknowingly bring shame to his companion, the burden of which is only fully striking him now. If it were his own reputation it would be meaningless, but with his star tied to Aymeric's - is this what it feels like to have societal expectations bearing down on your shoulders?

"Where are those drinks you were talking about?" he asks breathlessly.

Estinien's aura is palpable. Aymeric himself is not an aether reader at all, but one not need be one to sense the growing unease from the dragoon. This, Aymeric knows, will be most of his night's charge, and not something he finds himself disinclined with. Estinien is doing him the favor of accompanying him to this ball in the first place, it is only fitting that he make sure his friend enjoy himself as much as is possible.

He would not have invited Estinien at all if he thought that the other man might leave empty-handed--nay, Aymeric is not such a glutton for punishment on either of their behalf. Though claiming the title of the Azure Dragoon is something of an earned right and acceptance of the Eye, making sure the High Houses are aware of Estinien's deeds and conduct will only work in his favor, in Aymeric's eyes. When the time comes, Estinien would be better off with their support, and his more recent acceptances in into the Knights Dragoon provides a perfect opportunity for that.

Of course he did not say as much, knowing that Estinien would be (rightfully) opposed to the idea of being pranced about for accolades. That is also not the sole reason for inviting him--

Truthfully, Aymeric just likes his company. Even if Estinien had not made the Knights, he was want to invite his quickly becoming closest friend at some point. Just, perhaps, not to an event this big.

"They should be..." Aymeric allows his voice to trail as a waiter stops in front of them with a tray full of wine glasses, and presented thusly. "Right here." Taking a glass of red wine for himself, Aymeric gives a nod of thanks to the help.

Once Estinien has received his glass and the waiter leaves them be, Aymeric's smile twitches upwards as he holds the wine out his friend for a small, but private toast.

"To a successful eve--"

"Ah! There you are!"

Aymeric's eyes widen, if only for a moment as his gaze shifts from Estinien to the silver-haired man approaching them widely spread arms and an equally wide smile.

"Ser Haurchefant." Aymeric's shoulders ease as he gives a polite bow before raising his glass and taking the sip he was denied.

"You did not think your arrival would escape me so easily, did you? Though I admit I had half-expected to see Lady Elsinne de Nourorault on your arm, I shan't say that this is a bad choice," Haurchefant says as he comes to a stop in front of the pair, a twinkle in his eye.

Aymeric nearly chokes.

Ah, yes, of course the alcohol is brought to them and not the other way around. Still, Estinien is grateful for something familiar about the experience. Even after their disastrous first effort, drinking has been a familiar staple of spending time with Aymeric. Estinien is quick to take his first sip, though he freezes mid drink upon hearing someone already beelining in their direction.

It's Ser Haurchefant. Estinien has no idea whether to be relieved or terrified, the man capable of being good fun and absolutely mortifying in equal measure. Given the first thing he says, Estinien is concerned it might be the latter.

He doesn't even know who Lady Elsinne de Nourorault is. He had thought that Aymeric was withdrawn from the courting process - has that changed since the last time they spoke of it? He finally lowers his glass. Did Aymeric really invite him instead of a noble lady...?

"Hm," Estinien says, making an ambiguous noise for lack of better words. He glances sideways at Aymeric as if searching for something. "I haven't been acquainted..."

All eyes seem to be on Aymeric and this is one such time he wishes it were not so. He takes a moment to clear his throat and compose himself, though his voice sounds a little hoarse when he finds it once again.

"A passing acquaintance..."

Haurchefant guffaws on cue. "Why there is no need to be so shy, Ser Aymeric! You had seemed well enough acquainted last moon."

"You misremember, Lord Haurchefant," Aymeric says, managing to sound both pleasant and stern at the same time. "You shared more than one dance with Lady Elsinne yourself."

"Ah..." Haurchefant looks dreamy for a moment, then shakes his head. "A fleeting fancy, as 'twere! It is not I who caught her most discerning eye." He taps his nose knowingly before turning on Estinien with a sudden flourish.

"Yet full glad am I to have you, Ser Estinien! Had I known that you would be so inclined to join us I would have begged father to send you a personal invitation. When was it that we last spoke?" Despite the question, Haurchefant does not give him the time to respond. "Too long, too long! And I hear that you have been fully awarded the title of Dragoon. A long time coming!"

Aymeric is clearly trying to downplay the significance of his connection to this Lady Elsinne, but Estinien is incapable of determining whether that's the earnest truth or if he merely doesn't want to admit to it in front of him. Given all he knows about Aymeric he's inclined to believe he's being honest, but that can't quite prevent a small part of him from feeling unmoored by the whole thing.

What if Aymeric did have a lady friend that he'd simply never mentioned? What if he just didn't think it was relevant to Estinien? Why does that idea cause his gut to twist in the first place? Hadn't he been frustrated by Aymeric's perceived inability to pursue courtship due to the nature of his birth?

Estinien is so busy trying to figure out how to read this situation that he almost misses when he suddenly becomes the target of Haurchefant's 'enthusiasm.'

"I wouldn't get used to the idea," Estinien says roughly. "Ser Aymeric asked me along and so I made an exception." He sounds a little less glowing than he might have when saying that, mostly because he already feels insecure and off-balance. Maybe Aymeric really does have a whole separate life among these people that he's just incapable of understanding.

"But... aye. I completed the trials not all that long ago. Though not all of my peers were as fortunate." As in, several of them died, but he imagines that's not the right kind of conversation for polite society.

While he did not anticipate that his friend would burst with excitement for the invitation in front of others, he still sounds a little too sour for Aymeric's liking. He takes a decidedly large drink from his glass, more than is polite, but he knows neither man with him will care. Haurchefant, for his part, seems keen on fawning over Estinien's recent accomplishments, however morbid the journey to them was.

"Indeed not..." He does provide an appropriate moment of silence for their loss. Haurchefant, while exuberant in his best moments, is a man of heart through and through, and unashamed to show it.

"But you have reason much to celebrate! Ser Aymeric has only spoken favorably and readily of your exploits and accomplishments. I dare say that it's about time the rising star of our Knights Dragoon gift us with his presence."

Haurchefant gives a deep bow for effect. Aymeric shakes his head, but he's finding the edges of his own earlier annoyance are softening.

"Flatteries will not get you far, Lord Haurchefant."

"No? Mm, well, you cannot blame me for the effort! As you oft sing these selfsame praises."

Aymeric narrows his eyes and Haurchefant looks almost too jovial to be truly innocent.

Estinien scarcely understands what Haurchefant is playing at in this conversation. All he knows is that he's already been but on the defensive, and if that was the man's intent, he has to respect the efficiency of his tactics.

He crosses his arms, holding his wine idly in one hand. He shakes his head.

"I will only have something to celebrate when I've made full use of myself on the battlefield. There is yet much to accomplish ere I can be satisfied." Though Aymeric may be the only one who knows just how much accomplishment he means. Though becoming a Dragoon has been his nearest goal, now that it is passed he feels no closer to having his need quenched. All he can do is crave more.

At Aymeric is still on the same page about that. Flattery is meaningless to him. He doesn't need the approval of anyone here, he tries to remind himself... or Aymeric himself. He doesn't.

He glances at Aymeric, and then back to Haurchefant.

"You should tell me of this evening with Lady Elsinne," he says, with an edge of being purposefully defiant.

"Doubtlessly your lance will have ample opportunity to prove her worth, Ser Dragoon."

Haurchefant pauses to pluck a glass for himself as another waiter passes by, and Aymeric finds himself switching out an empty glass for his second of the evening. Much, much too early to be on his second glass, but he is not the only one feeling on the defensive. Aymeric knows that Haurchefant means well--mostly...mostly.

"The Astrologians have been quite busy of late, have they not?"

Aymeric gives a hum of agreement, nursing his drink and reminding himself to take it slow.

"There has been more traffic than usual at the Athenaeum." The Borel Manor is, of course, just around the corner. When there are rumors of the horde moving en masse, Aymeric's suspicions are usually first raised by increased activity and lights late into the night in the days preceeding the announcement. Being in the Temple Knights offers further insight to that as well.

Aymeric, though, does not venture too further on the topic, offering an ample pause for both men to take a drink--Aymeric delicately so and Haurchefant with the enthusiasm one might expect. That does, unfortunately, set an opening for a topic Aymeric had hoped they steered away from.

He pauses, glass still tilting towards his face.

Haurchefant raises a brow, looking from Estinien, to Aymeric, then taps his chin with the lip of his own glass.

"You may have to be more specific, Ser Estinien. There have been multiple evenings with Lady Elsinne, if memory serves."

Aymeric lowers the glass and looks very pointedly at Haurchefant, while the other man only switches to raise his opposite brow instead.

"You need not work so diligently to try and paint my reputation in that particular light, Lord Haurchefant."

"Fury, forgive me!" Haurchefant places a hand over his heart. "What reputation is this you speak of, my lord? If anything, you seem to forget that it is only the Heavens' Ward that require an oath chastity to join their ranks."

The dark-haired man exhales slowly through his nose before turning an almost apologetic look towards Estinien.

"Lady Elsinne of House Nourorault is the daughter of Viscount Olfert de Nourorault--most notable for working closely with House Haillenarte at the Manufactory--" Information that would be well-known amongst other guests, but Aymeric knows that Estinien's knowledge of the Houses of Ishgard are limited to what is relevant in battle. "--and has been...increasingly friendly these past few moons."

Haurchefant seems to find this description amusing, but insufficient, taking a step forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with Aymeric.

"She has naught but a few summers on on us--" Speaking mostly of Aymeric, being a little younger himself and assuming that Estinien is of similar age range. "--has an irresistible smile, and found herself completely taken when the two were paired at a ball late in the winter. She has seen it fit to seek out Ser Aymeric at every engagement since. Why, it was only a few weeks ago that you two were found alone in the Budaire Garden--"

"--I had stepped out for some fresh air. She must have--...convenient timing that we should cross paths again." Aymeric quickly interjects.

Haurchefant pauses. "Ah, was that it?"

"Your vivid imagination makes for an excellent story, but it seems that your own infatuation with Lady Elsinne may be discoloring your recollection of events." Blue eyes drop to the wine glass the other man holds. "Or perhaps your wine."

Haurchefant chuckles. "I only jest, my lord! Though you need not rebuke her overtures so. Lest you intend to earn the title 'Ser Aymeric the Chaste'?"

Halone help him.

Estinien regrets asking about this only shortly after the two men get into it, exchanging contrasting perspectives on the situation. It's the sort of gossip that would bore Estinien to tears under normal circumstances, that he would actively go out of his way to avoid hearing about, but here he is, trying to decode the truth of this absurd situation.

It seems like Aymeric is not as immune to catching a lady's fancy as he thought, if this one is pursuing him so intensely. Haurchefant is trying very hard to imply that there is something legitimately going on, while Aymeric repeatedly rebukes him. He could take wry pleasure at someone's expense in different circumstances, but... not right now. Not after the energy they worked up on the way over here.

Instead, he still finds himself somewhat adrift. Just another reminder that Aymeric has an entire life he is trying to build within this place, and it's a life that Estinien has little place in. Would he be expected to marry, in order to carry on the legacy of his house? Estinien fully intends to die before ever planting roots in such a manner.

He finds his gaze lingering on Aymeric more and more as the discussion goes on. Not even the idea of 'Ser Aymeric the Chaste' manages to get a chuckle out of him. It just doesn't feel very amusing, at the moment.

"Reason would suggest that, if he is rebuking her affections, he is not interested," Estinien rumbles, his lack of amusement clear on his face. He's mostly been ignoring his drink. "Unless he has an obligation to fulfill."

There is an almost instantaneous relief when Estinien agrees with him and it shows with how his shoulders, having gone very straight and tense, droop in turn. But before he can thank his friend for the most needed support, Estinien raises another, unfortunately, valid point.

No such obligations have been outright placed on him, though the weight of the Borel name dying with their adopted son and heir apparent is something he is keenly aware of and has oft considered of late with his mother's declining health. Not at all the kind of talk one entertains at a party such as this.

Aymeric clears his throat. "Not at the present... Moreover, affections and attentions are not one and the same." He pointedly sip his drink, feeding off of the aura of displeasure Estinien himself is emitting along with his own growing frustration.

While one to push and pry, Haurchefant is not a fool immune to reading the discontent of his guests. In this, at least, he offers them some room to breathe.

"Far be it for me to scorn someone's attentions either way." Haurchefant's own reputation has been growing far in the opposite direction of Aymeric's own. "But this is good news for the rest of Ishgard's hopefuls! Then I will feel no shame in asking our fine lady for a dance later this eve. That is unless one of you would like to take her place?"

Well, sort of.

If you'd asked him on the way in, Estinien would have indicated he was going to be making an attempt to be civil with people, no matter how annoying they were. In this moment, though, he's already been drained. It happened remarkably quickly.

"No," is all he says, keeping his arms crossed. He's almost certain that both Aymeric and Haurchefant would expect this response, though maybe with slightly more padding. If this is how taxing such a simple conversation was in this content, he can't bear to imagine what Haurchefant might spring upon him on the dancefloor.

It is absolutely the response that they both expect, although Aymeric is starting to bristle with concern. This is not at all how he was hoping the evening would be going, and so soon after arriving...well-intended though he believes Haurchefant's intentions are, he has clearly crossed a line.

The man in question takes it all in stride, ever the one to try to smooth out frayed nerves if he sees it within his power.

"Alas! I will be left wanting. Mayhaps another time."

"I am sure your dance card will be full soon enough, Lord Haurchefant." As much as he feels inclined to, Aymeric resists the urge to place his hand on Estinien's shoulder, so instead he places his free hand at his hip. "Seeing as we have only just arrived, I believe it is due time that Ser Estinien and I make our rounds."

"But of course! Don't let me keep you, Sers. And be sure to say 'hello' to father, I know that he has been interested in your progress."

Aymeric places that hand then on his own chest and gives a half-bow. Haurchefant may not be a Fortemps in name, it being so denied to him after birth, but his opinions do still hold sway in the family. Edmont may receive admonishments from the other High Houses for it, but he has not yet let it affect him.

"We shall. Many thanks."

Blue eyes flick to Estinien almost as they would in battle, that silent communication that they are to move forward. Haurchefant takes his leave in sync as Aymeric leads away further into the throngs of people, though not towards anyone in particular. It is quickly apparent that these rounds were really just a means to break the conversation.

Once they sufficiently departed, Aymeric sighs and shakes his head.

"...Apologies, my friend. This is not how I hoped the evening would begin. He means well."

Edited 2020-10-21 06:42 (UTC)

Having finally broken away from the situation, what strikes Estinien the most is that he can't even truly determine why he is upset. He wasn't the one being bothered about his love life, or having it speculated about in public. Haurchefants comments towards Estinien himself were mostly to be expected - useless flattery and compliments, the same as most others he would speak to about his 'promotion.'

The best he can determine is that for a moment he thought that Aymeric may have been withholding information from him, having some kind of flirtatious relationship with a woman he'd never heard of. Yet from the rest of the discussion, and everything he knows about Aymeric, that doesn't seem to be the case. Only that when Aymeric mentioned that his makeover may run the risk of drawing the attention of Ishgardian ladies, he may be speaking from experience.

So, why is he at such ill-ease? The thoughts still linger, that Aymeric has a life among these people, and one Estinien is ill-suited for. He's quiet as they first begin to talk away, but when Aymeric apologizes, he finally speaks.

"...Nay," he says more softly. "I was not the subject of Haurchefant's speculation." He pauses, and then adds: "And 'twas indelicate to egg him on."

Truthfully, Estinien can't help but respect Haurchefant, for how confidently he operates among a society that regards his existence as a mistake. So clearly unafraid is he to push against Ishgard's boundaries, but also all too willing to drag others into it.

The timber of Estinien's voice is enough to soothe a little of Aymeric's concern. A smile finds him easily, apologetic though it still is as his brows press together.

"He does not need the encouragement, that much is true. Yet I do know he speaks from a position of good faith, misguided though it may be."

Aymeric sighs, willing away his frustration best as he can. His empty glass is taken by the passing help, though he declines another for the moment. Seeing that Estinien has yet to indulge in his own, Aymeric tilts his head to the side and nods towards the drink.

"Is it not to your liking? We could find something better suited with ease, I am sure."

Estinien's eyebrows lift in surprise because frankly, he'd half-forgotten he was holding a drink at all. He realizes what Aymeric is talking about and then shakes his head, frowning.

"Nay, the drink is acceptable," he says. "Mine thoughts were lingering elsewhere." He takes a long sip to prove his point and then falls quiet again, looking around the crowd, feeling watched by too many eyes.

He glances at Aymeric a few times before an idea occurs to him.

"You had mentioned an armory before," he says. "May we take our own leave for it, or shall we require an escort?"

Edited 2020-10-21 19:57 (UTC)

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