aymeric "national ass et" de borel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
revolutionne) wrote2020-09-30 10:42 pm
revolutionne) wrote2020-09-30 10:42 pm
❧ open post
◖ private prompts, carryover, and what-have-you! ◗
◖ private prompts, carryover, and what-have-you! ◗
[ It had been less difficult than one might believe to finally extract himself from the festivities. Though it was not often that Aymeric would turn down such an invitation, knowing full well what was expected of his station. It was not so much that he intended to stay in the good graces of the High Houses, trying to keep that professional distance is a delicate balance that he is coming to master, but that both his duties as Lord Speaker and Lord Commander require him to keep his finger on the pulse of their doings.
Of course, not all events are of grave importance. Often times it is merely lip-service and making a show of appearance that is enough to foster new acquaintances or reaffirm old alliances. He can safely consider that completed to an adequate level, having shaken enough hands and laughed and the right moments, Aymeric excuses himself for more welcoming company.
After receiving his coat from the manservant by the door, he slips out into the evening. There is yet enough merriment still going on that his presence, or lack thereof, will go unnoticed for a while.
When he sees aforementioned welcoming company standing not far from the steps that lead up to the mansion, he offers a light smile and wave. ]
Pardon my tardiness, I hope I did not keep you waiting long.
Of course, not all events are of grave importance. Often times it is merely lip-service and making a show of appearance that is enough to foster new acquaintances or reaffirm old alliances. He can safely consider that completed to an adequate level, having shaken enough hands and laughed and the right moments, Aymeric excuses himself for more welcoming company.
After receiving his coat from the manservant by the door, he slips out into the evening. There is yet enough merriment still going on that his presence, or lack thereof, will go unnoticed for a while.
When he sees aforementioned welcoming company standing not far from the steps that lead up to the mansion, he offers a light smile and wave. ]
Pardon my tardiness, I hope I did not keep you waiting long.
[ Upon hearing someone exiting from the mansion, even before she sees who it is, Cecil springs up immediately from her seat on the edge of the stone raised garden bed at the bottom of the steps, looking much like a child caught doing something she was definitely not supposed to be doing. She’s quite certain that an Ishgardian noble from any house would hardly find it appropriate behavior for a woman to just be roosting anywhere outside, let alone a young queen dressed still in all her finery, and though Cecil still finds it difficult to reconcile her status as a royalty now with the knight she’s always been, the last thing she wants to do is embarrass her people. Nobles talk. Word would get around quickly and the nobles on her council would not take it lightly that their queen was behaving uncouth (again) in a foreign land.
Imagine her relief then when she sees it’s Aymeric and not someone who honestly deeply cares about those sorts of things. She sighs a little with relief, a wispy cloud of white rising into the frigid night air from her breath, and she returns his smile and wave easily, immediately set at ease by his presence. She and Aymeric have a lot in common, it would seem, right down to both having a prickly dragon knight for a best friend from what she’s heard. It’s comforting to know that here, at least, if not in Baron, there’s someone else besides her who feels all this decorum and formality is a bit unnecessary. ]
Not at all.
[ She assured him with a quiet little chuckle, pulling her cloak more tightly around her neck to keep the chill out. Her normally pale cheeks are red enough from this weather. ]
Assuring my knights I can look after myself perfectly well for a few hours is always a challenge, even if I trained some of them myself. They only just took their leave a few moments ago.
Imagine her relief then when she sees it’s Aymeric and not someone who honestly deeply cares about those sorts of things. She sighs a little with relief, a wispy cloud of white rising into the frigid night air from her breath, and she returns his smile and wave easily, immediately set at ease by his presence. She and Aymeric have a lot in common, it would seem, right down to both having a prickly dragon knight for a best friend from what she’s heard. It’s comforting to know that here, at least, if not in Baron, there’s someone else besides her who feels all this decorum and formality is a bit unnecessary. ]
Not at all.
[ She assured him with a quiet little chuckle, pulling her cloak more tightly around her neck to keep the chill out. Her normally pale cheeks are red enough from this weather. ]
Assuring my knights I can look after myself perfectly well for a few hours is always a challenge, even if I trained some of them myself. They only just took their leave a few moments ago.
[ She is a vision of white against the hard stone that makes up the streets and walls of Ishgard, yet calls to the snow that dusts the planters and rooftops. He expects nothing but civility and politeness of her, of course, but that does not mean he wants to be the cause of any chill or discomfort.
Aymeric descends the steps and comes to her side as he adjusts the fur-lined collar to his coat. ]
One can hardly blame them for wanting the comfort and safety of their queen, especially considering the upheaval that was required towards establishing Ishgard's new governing body.
[ Upheaval that Aymeric took a rather large part in himself, which has been much of the more recent controversy surrounding him. But the sways of public opinion change swiftly and he encounter disfavor for a short while all things considered. Yet he does not presume that all will continue to be that way. ]
I will do my utmost to prove a worthy escort.
[ He offers his arm to Cecil. ]
Aymeric descends the steps and comes to her side as he adjusts the fur-lined collar to his coat. ]
One can hardly blame them for wanting the comfort and safety of their queen, especially considering the upheaval that was required towards establishing Ishgard's new governing body.
[ Upheaval that Aymeric took a rather large part in himself, which has been much of the more recent controversy surrounding him. But the sways of public opinion change swiftly and he encounter disfavor for a short while all things considered. Yet he does not presume that all will continue to be that way. ]
I will do my utmost to prove a worthy escort.
[ He offers his arm to Cecil. ]
[ When he puts it that way, she too can understand the concern of her knights. How she came to ascend the throne of Baron involved political turmoil and war as well, so she really ought to be more understanding of the position of her entourage. She just isn't entirely convinced she needs so many guards, as it's not as though having a crown placed on her head made her forget her years of swordsmanship training.
Cecil sighs and gives Aymeric a sheepish smile as she takes his arm, perhaps unconsciously huddling a little closer to his larger frame for the warmth of it. The climate of Ishgard is rather different than that of her kingdom. ]
I suppose you are right-- I should be more sympathetic. I mean no offense to the royal guard, but... sometimes I find myself rather longing for the days when I could walk anywhere I wanted by myself without anyone worrying for my safety. How I took such simple freedoms for granted then...
[ She chuckles softly. ]
Oh, I am fully certain you are more than capable of being an excellent escort, Lord Speaker. You have yet to disappoint, at least.
[ Her cornflower blue eyes sparkle with mirth as she teases the elezen man lightly. ]
That might have changed had you not been able to escape the clutches of any members of your fanclub attending the gala tonight.
Cecil sighs and gives Aymeric a sheepish smile as she takes his arm, perhaps unconsciously huddling a little closer to his larger frame for the warmth of it. The climate of Ishgard is rather different than that of her kingdom. ]
I suppose you are right-- I should be more sympathetic. I mean no offense to the royal guard, but... sometimes I find myself rather longing for the days when I could walk anywhere I wanted by myself without anyone worrying for my safety. How I took such simple freedoms for granted then...
[ She chuckles softly. ]
Oh, I am fully certain you are more than capable of being an excellent escort, Lord Speaker. You have yet to disappoint, at least.
[ Her cornflower blue eyes sparkle with mirth as she teases the elezen man lightly. ]
That might have changed had you not been able to escape the clutches of any members of your fanclub attending the gala tonight.
[ Had someone asked him a decade ago--nay, even a summer before if Aymeric would be entertaining royalty at his private residence? He would have laughed at the notion. Yet here he is, leading Cecil away from the gala and through the streets of the Pillars towards Borel Manor.
A bold move, as many would say, though he would implore that his intentions are nothing but gentlemanly. Even so, Aymeric did consider what gossip might transpire should the Lord Speaker be seen stealing away a visiting dignitary. He can only hope that the other guests were inebriated enough not to notice. ]
Titles may change, but in many ways the soldier does not. One cannot hold a blade for so many years and feel bare without its weight.
[ That much he can certainly sympathize with. Though fully capable of defending himself (nevermind that assassination attempt...) he is unlikely to travel far without armed escort of his own, though his position is far more replaceable.
Cecil's jest has Aymeric averting his gaze, if only for a moment before he smiles back with equal mirth. ]
I am indeed fortunate to have found other arrangements, as...flattering as their support can be.
[ A very gentle way to put it. ]
Nevertheless, I have knowledge of the several events planned over the next several days that will want for your attendance during your stay in Ishgard. A night's reprieve may be in order.
A bold move, as many would say, though he would implore that his intentions are nothing but gentlemanly. Even so, Aymeric did consider what gossip might transpire should the Lord Speaker be seen stealing away a visiting dignitary. He can only hope that the other guests were inebriated enough not to notice. ]
Titles may change, but in many ways the soldier does not. One cannot hold a blade for so many years and feel bare without its weight.
[ That much he can certainly sympathize with. Though fully capable of defending himself (nevermind that assassination attempt...) he is unlikely to travel far without armed escort of his own, though his position is far more replaceable.
Cecil's jest has Aymeric averting his gaze, if only for a moment before he smiles back with equal mirth. ]
I am indeed fortunate to have found other arrangements, as...flattering as their support can be.
[ A very gentle way to put it. ]
Nevertheless, I have knowledge of the several events planned over the next several days that will want for your attendance during your stay in Ishgard. A night's reprieve may be in order.
[ His smile makes Cecil's grin widen and she gives his arm a sympathetic little pat while they walk. For all the, ah, awkwardness that can arise at having attention such as the kind Aymeric garners from certain groups of his people, he admirably takes it in stride as much as he does anything else and she admires his good humor about it. She might also be a little flattered that he opted to spend the evening with her out of all his choices. ]
Ah, I see now. While I thought I was rescuing you from an evening of superfluous decorum, in truth it was you exercising mercy upon me. I hope I will at least see you at some of these?
[ Another quiet laugh escapes her before her expression grows warmer, more sincere rather than blithe. Her voice too adopts a softer, more serious tone. ]
I thank you, truly, for showing such kindness to a knight still feeling out a place under a crown. I never thought I would be playing my hand at politics anywhere but on the deck of an airship and now it feels as though that occupies the vast majority of my time.
Ah, I see now. While I thought I was rescuing you from an evening of superfluous decorum, in truth it was you exercising mercy upon me. I hope I will at least see you at some of these?
[ Another quiet laugh escapes her before her expression grows warmer, more sincere rather than blithe. Her voice too adopts a softer, more serious tone. ]
I thank you, truly, for showing such kindness to a knight still feeling out a place under a crown. I never thought I would be playing my hand at politics anywhere but on the deck of an airship and now it feels as though that occupies the vast majority of my time.
[ There is little to do but take it in stride, in his eyes. There is something to be said about the proprieties of Ishgardian culture that does save him a good number of potential indignities, though it is still a stark contrast to the suspicion he had become accustomed to growing up. Aymeric is sure part of him will never really be used to it all.
Still, he is glad she goes along with his rouse, transparent though it is to the both of them. ]
Only with the best of intentions, Your Majesty. And yes, I should be present at most, if not all, should nothing else arise that requires my personal attention.
[ This could easily be considered an affair that does given the nature of garnering alliances with other nations, though Aymeric is ever aware that he may be called away at a moment's notice when Ishgard's safety is at risk. He doubts it will come to that, though, not after the threat at the door--self-made though it was--has finally been put to rest.
At her gratitude, he can only smile and shake his head. ]
I am merely speaking from mine own experience, though not to nearly as high of a station, of course.
[ Queen outranks any title in Ishgard, without question. ]
'Tis a different sort of battlefield, is it not? Albeit with an entirely different code of conduct and arsenal at one's disposal. Though if I may be so bold, you do wear your crown with a natural dignity.
Still, he is glad she goes along with his rouse, transparent though it is to the both of them. ]
Only with the best of intentions, Your Majesty. And yes, I should be present at most, if not all, should nothing else arise that requires my personal attention.
[ This could easily be considered an affair that does given the nature of garnering alliances with other nations, though Aymeric is ever aware that he may be called away at a moment's notice when Ishgard's safety is at risk. He doubts it will come to that, though, not after the threat at the door--self-made though it was--has finally been put to rest.
At her gratitude, he can only smile and shake his head. ]
I am merely speaking from mine own experience, though not to nearly as high of a station, of course.
[ Queen outranks any title in Ishgard, without question. ]
'Tis a different sort of battlefield, is it not? Albeit with an entirely different code of conduct and arsenal at one's disposal. Though if I may be so bold, you do wear your crown with a natural dignity.
An unending war is hardly a cause for celebration, but so embedded into Ishgard's way of life that there were few comings that would impede nobility from enjoying the wealth they had acquired. Galas were commonplace and their guestlist varied greatly on the House that was hosting, the Higher Houses often garnering a number of uninvited guests who hoped to brush elbows with the upper echelons of society. House Borel was hardly noteworthy, save for the reputation of their adopted son, by Aymeric has been to many events of the years of varying import. At least according to those in attendance.
In many ways they were a front for networking under the guise of merriment (and usually some level of intoxication)--a different sort of battlefield. Aymeric had become used to the pomp and circumstance required to play this game and as such, has been slowly climbing the rungs towards something of favor with a few circles despite the rumors surrounding his origins. Such favor led to Ser Aymeric de Borel (and a guest) to be cordially invited to a party held at House Fortemps.
Said guest does not have the same understanding of that pomp and circumstance that he does.
That Estinien agreed to accompany Aymeric at all had been something of as surprise. He has learned much of his friend over the past year and Estinien's dislike for large social gatherings (or social gatherings in general) and the haughtiness of upper class society made it seem that Aymeric's offer would be turned down outright. Still, he is glad to have the company, knowing that his acceptance into the Knights Dragoon with such esteem has earned Estinien no small amount of notoriety as well.
Of course he had been confused, but amused to see that Estinien showed up at the Borel Manor in full armor. Because of course he had.
Which leaves them where they are now--notably in Aymeric's room, the party having already started over the las bell, as Aymeric smooths out one of his own tunics over Estinien's shoulders.
"And it fits well, as I had suspected." He drops his hands, stepping back with a smile that reaches his eyes, crinkling at the edges. "I would say that you look much less threatening this way, but with that glare I am not sure that is the case."
In many ways they were a front for networking under the guise of merriment (and usually some level of intoxication)--a different sort of battlefield. Aymeric had become used to the pomp and circumstance required to play this game and as such, has been slowly climbing the rungs towards something of favor with a few circles despite the rumors surrounding his origins. Such favor led to Ser Aymeric de Borel (and a guest) to be cordially invited to a party held at House Fortemps.
Said guest does not have the same understanding of that pomp and circumstance that he does.
That Estinien agreed to accompany Aymeric at all had been something of as surprise. He has learned much of his friend over the past year and Estinien's dislike for large social gatherings (or social gatherings in general) and the haughtiness of upper class society made it seem that Aymeric's offer would be turned down outright. Still, he is glad to have the company, knowing that his acceptance into the Knights Dragoon with such esteem has earned Estinien no small amount of notoriety as well.
Of course he had been confused, but amused to see that Estinien showed up at the Borel Manor in full armor. Because of course he had.
Which leaves them where they are now--notably in Aymeric's room, the party having already started over the las bell, as Aymeric smooths out one of his own tunics over Estinien's shoulders.
"And it fits well, as I had suspected." He drops his hands, stepping back with a smile that reaches his eyes, crinkling at the edges. "I would say that you look much less threatening this way, but with that glare I am not sure that is the case."
It's a shame that Aymeric and he are approximately the same height and girth, because otherwise he might have had an excuse to return to the Congregation, the night being preemptively ruled a failure. He'd thought it would be like the other nebulous 'events' he'd been forced to attend, where wearing armor had been acceptable for those in the military. This, apparently, is meant to be a lot more festive.
As such, he's been starting to have second thoughts. Given what he'd heard from Aymeric of such gatherings, a small part of him had been genuinely curious - and another part felt that something like this could be considered a big deal in the noble circles. It seemed like the supportive thing to do, and a chance to use his new status as a Dragoon to Aymeric's benefit.
And he's so fond of Aymeric - a fact that has become more and more transparent over the last year of them having known each other. From tentative beginnings, his esteem for him has become less guarded, and their friendship stronger for it. To say that he values Aymeric, or even that he admires him, is no longer a secret held close to his chest. He's allowed himself that much.
What he was less willing to allow for was wearing Aymeric clothes, which he ruminates on as he casts his Drachen Armor a longing gaze, where it's been set aside for the evening. In reality, he'd been imagining himself attending more like a mysterious looming bodyguard and less like an actual guest.
His arms are crossed around his chest. He feels like he's been suddenly forced to wear a new skin.
"Are you finished?" he asks curtly, torn between wanting for this part to be over and being equally reluctant to move on to the next part. His hair is still largely uncombed, ruffled from having been in his helmet, which looks to be an increasingly sharp contrast with the rest of his outfit.
As such, he's been starting to have second thoughts. Given what he'd heard from Aymeric of such gatherings, a small part of him had been genuinely curious - and another part felt that something like this could be considered a big deal in the noble circles. It seemed like the supportive thing to do, and a chance to use his new status as a Dragoon to Aymeric's benefit.
And he's so fond of Aymeric - a fact that has become more and more transparent over the last year of them having known each other. From tentative beginnings, his esteem for him has become less guarded, and their friendship stronger for it. To say that he values Aymeric, or even that he admires him, is no longer a secret held close to his chest. He's allowed himself that much.
What he was less willing to allow for was wearing Aymeric clothes, which he ruminates on as he casts his Drachen Armor a longing gaze, where it's been set aside for the evening. In reality, he'd been imagining himself attending more like a mysterious looming bodyguard and less like an actual guest.
His arms are crossed around his chest. He feels like he's been suddenly forced to wear a new skin.
"Are you finished?" he asks curtly, torn between wanting for this part to be over and being equally reluctant to move on to the next part. His hair is still largely uncombed, ruffled from having been in his helmet, which looks to be an increasingly sharp contrast with the rest of his outfit.
Aymeric, of course, had assumed that the difference in circumstances would be self-evident--previous engagements Estinien was invited or instructed to attend as a representative of his faction, while this time he is attending as Aymeric's guest for the evening. In hindsight he ought to have anticipated the confusion that would ensue, ever the creature of habit that Estinien is, and how despite they have gotten closer over the year, there were still many aspects of Aymeric's own upper class upbringing that he finds are out of the norm for the other man, balls and banquets not withstanding.
Still, there is something to be said of being fashionably late and it is not as if Aymeric believes his own presence is anticipated with any excitement at this juncture. Count Edmont de Fortemps has ever been kind and he means to return the gesture however he can, which includes making sure his friend does not overtly try to intimidate the other guests fully armed.
He sees that look of longing Estinien casts towards his armor with no small sense of amusement, but manages to keep any chuckling to himself. Truthfully Aymeric was not sure if Estinien would allow him to fuss so, but perhaps this is a small mercy on Estinien's part. He will attempt to make the process as painless as possible.
"Not quite." That hair is something of a mess, seemingly more so now that he is almost always seen with his helmet on.
Aymeric crosses over to his dresser, where several grooming items are placed and stored. A small mirror sits at the center, flanked by oils, moisturizers, and what is a shaving kit of sorts. Beside those are a few brushes and combs. Aymeric purses his lips for a moment before picking the comb with the largest teeth and sets back to the dragoon.
"When was the last time you took a comb to this, my friend?"
It may sound like an admonishment, but his voice is light with an audible quirk to his lips. Aymeric pieces out a section, holds it between the middle and forefinger on his left hand as he carefully tries to work through the tangles with his right.
Still, there is something to be said of being fashionably late and it is not as if Aymeric believes his own presence is anticipated with any excitement at this juncture. Count Edmont de Fortemps has ever been kind and he means to return the gesture however he can, which includes making sure his friend does not overtly try to intimidate the other guests fully armed.
He sees that look of longing Estinien casts towards his armor with no small sense of amusement, but manages to keep any chuckling to himself. Truthfully Aymeric was not sure if Estinien would allow him to fuss so, but perhaps this is a small mercy on Estinien's part. He will attempt to make the process as painless as possible.
"Not quite." That hair is something of a mess, seemingly more so now that he is almost always seen with his helmet on.
Aymeric crosses over to his dresser, where several grooming items are placed and stored. A small mirror sits at the center, flanked by oils, moisturizers, and what is a shaving kit of sorts. Beside those are a few brushes and combs. Aymeric purses his lips for a moment before picking the comb with the largest teeth and sets back to the dragoon.
"When was the last time you took a comb to this, my friend?"
It may sound like an admonishment, but his voice is light with an audible quirk to his lips. Aymeric pieces out a section, holds it between the middle and forefinger on his left hand as he carefully tries to work through the tangles with his right.
It's true - being given full dragoon armor has seemingly only emboldened Estinien's ability to completely disregard his personal aesthetic. He would bundle his hair into the helmet and forget about it for long stretches of time on missions, and given that he'd been intending on wearing this helmet to this event, he did nothing to tame it before arriving.
It's a powerful indication of their friendship that Estinien allows Aymeric to get anywhere near that comb and his hair. Surely, any lesser person would be at risk of losing a hand in the exchange. Instead, Estinien looks about as unhappy as a housecat being lowered into a bath - but he lets Aymeric carry on regardless. It's a very indignant sort of aura, but something he's trained himself to tolerate. He keeps his arms crossed.
Aymeric could be very fussy and tactile when he was allowed, and Estinien has been more and more inclined to just let him be himself. It just came with the grim reality that Estinien was also going to be himself.
"I didn't exactly mark the calendar," he grumbles, which has its own damning implications. His white hair is thick and fairly resilient to the abuse he puts it through, so at least it won't be that hard to smooth it out, some light matting aside.
It's a powerful indication of their friendship that Estinien allows Aymeric to get anywhere near that comb and his hair. Surely, any lesser person would be at risk of losing a hand in the exchange. Instead, Estinien looks about as unhappy as a housecat being lowered into a bath - but he lets Aymeric carry on regardless. It's a very indignant sort of aura, but something he's trained himself to tolerate. He keeps his arms crossed.
Aymeric could be very fussy and tactile when he was allowed, and Estinien has been more and more inclined to just let him be himself. It just came with the grim reality that Estinien was also going to be himself.
"I didn't exactly mark the calendar," he grumbles, which has its own damning implications. His white hair is thick and fairly resilient to the abuse he puts it through, so at least it won't be that hard to smooth it out, some light matting aside.
[ Continued from... ]
I would imagine that the presence of any member of the Heavens' Ward would be considered an esteemed guest at any ball or banquet. Pray forgive me if it overly familiar, but I would request your presence as Ser Zephirin himself.
I would imagine that the presence of any member of the Heavens' Ward would be considered an esteemed guest at any ball or banquet. Pray forgive me if it overly familiar, but I would request your presence as Ser Zephirin himself.
He well understands the allowances and familiarities that Estinien now affords him, embracing each and every one. It had taken some time and Aymeric is ever a patient man in most regards, wanting only for his friend to feel comfortable rather than just indulging his own desire to reach out to the people he cares about. He ever keeps a healthy boundary of space between himself and most others, but the few in his inner circle, Aymeric has found himself to be prone to physical contact--not that he needs the reassurance they are truly there, but that he can happily enjoy their presence and all that comes with it.
This is no exception--perhaps it is an even greater allotment than usual given the unique circumstances. While he is want to take care of the other man when needed, this is purely for aesthetics. Aesthetics, of course, play a great part in how one fares as such parties as they are attending, but he knows Estinien cares little for them.
No, Estinien is doing this for him and Aymeric makes a silent note to himself to make it up to him, somehow, at a later time.
The dark grumbles coming from the dragoon receive a gentle shake of Aymeric's own head as he moves from one section to the next. He tries to avoid pulling on any knots too hard--not because Estinien could not take the moment of pain, but more because it would give the other man a reason to pull away and put his foot down calling it the end of this charade. Both patience and deft fingers are what will win Aymeric the night.
"I can only imagine how the inside of your helm must look." His voice is breathy but musing. "Ser Croquembouche receives a good brushing at least once a week or else grooming becomes quite the undertaking." Which is likely a surprise to anyone who has met his young, but wilily cat.
Satisfied that Estinien's hair is much more presentable, Aymeric sets down the comb. He steps back, putting a hand to his chin and tils his head to the side as he considers the long strands before him.
"Ah!" Suddenly inspired, Aymeric makes for one of the drawers in his dresser that houses some of his accessories--cravats, scarves, ties, ruffles of all various sorts depending on the outfit or occasion. In that he pulls out a single black silk ribbon, to which he smiles a little too proudly. Taking his place behind Estinien once again, he takes all of his friend's hair at once and quickly weaves it back into a loose braid, tying it off with the ribbon.
Yes, that makes a world of difference. Aymeric is all smiles as he directs Estinien to his own reflection towards one of the full length mirrors situated by the wall.
"There we are. With any luck some might mistake you for a true gentleman, Ser Estinien."
This is no exception--perhaps it is an even greater allotment than usual given the unique circumstances. While he is want to take care of the other man when needed, this is purely for aesthetics. Aesthetics, of course, play a great part in how one fares as such parties as they are attending, but he knows Estinien cares little for them.
No, Estinien is doing this for him and Aymeric makes a silent note to himself to make it up to him, somehow, at a later time.
The dark grumbles coming from the dragoon receive a gentle shake of Aymeric's own head as he moves from one section to the next. He tries to avoid pulling on any knots too hard--not because Estinien could not take the moment of pain, but more because it would give the other man a reason to pull away and put his foot down calling it the end of this charade. Both patience and deft fingers are what will win Aymeric the night.
"I can only imagine how the inside of your helm must look." His voice is breathy but musing. "Ser Croquembouche receives a good brushing at least once a week or else grooming becomes quite the undertaking." Which is likely a surprise to anyone who has met his young, but wilily cat.
Satisfied that Estinien's hair is much more presentable, Aymeric sets down the comb. He steps back, putting a hand to his chin and tils his head to the side as he considers the long strands before him.
"Ah!" Suddenly inspired, Aymeric makes for one of the drawers in his dresser that houses some of his accessories--cravats, scarves, ties, ruffles of all various sorts depending on the outfit or occasion. In that he pulls out a single black silk ribbon, to which he smiles a little too proudly. Taking his place behind Estinien once again, he takes all of his friend's hair at once and quickly weaves it back into a loose braid, tying it off with the ribbon.
Yes, that makes a world of difference. Aymeric is all smiles as he directs Estinien to his own reflection towards one of the full length mirrors situated by the wall.
"There we are. With any luck some might mistake you for a true gentleman, Ser Estinien."
[ Privately, Zephirin suspects that a few of his chosen brothers are not gladly welcomed wheresoever they go, but none would dare cross them. It gives him pause, too, that Aymeric would invite him as an ordinary man — perhaps the man he was in days past, once. He wonders then what fragments of that man are left and permissible, outside His Eminence's will. ]
You do not extend your invitation as Ishgard's Lord Commander?
You do not extend your invitation as Ishgard's Lord Commander?
[ Continued from... ]
[ That's a terrible pun.
...
...... ]
Do you not mean "purrhaps"?
[ But not as bad as that one, Halone save them. ]
I shall take your suggestion to heart and see if this yet bears fruit. You have my gratitude, Lord Emmanellain. I hope that I can repay this favor in kind.
[ That's a terrible pun.
...
...... ]
Do you not mean "purrhaps"?
[ But not as bad as that one, Halone save them. ]
I shall take your suggestion to heart and see if this yet bears fruit. You have my gratitude, Lord Emmanellain. I hope that I can repay this favor in kind.
I do not. Not in this instance, at the least. Which in turn offers no obligation or duty to attend on behalf of either of our stations other than that of one man to another.
[ He may be making assumptions, but he does not believe that happens all too frequently regarding this particular order of Knights. But behind their titles, they are still men. ]
[ He may be making assumptions, but he does not believe that happens all too frequently regarding this particular order of Knights. But behind their titles, they are still men. ]
[ Mercifully, Aymeric's ears aren't subjected to Emmanellain's appreciation for that retort: somewhere, the young lord bursts into laughter. He probably earns himself more than a few disapproving glares. ]
purrhaps, why, of course! if only i'd thought of it myself!
[ Brilliant puns, having received the Emmanellain de Fortemps seal of approval, as it were. ]
do keep me apprised of the outcome, ser aymeric! that's repayment enough, really
purrhaps, why, of course! if only i'd thought of it myself!
[ Brilliant puns, having received the Emmanellain de Fortemps seal of approval, as it were. ]
do keep me apprised of the outcome, ser aymeric! that's repayment enough, really
[ We of the Heavens' Ward have pledged our lives to His Eminence, Zephirin might say, alluding to a certain set of rules to which he strives to adhere, as if every one of his brothers devotes every waking moment to their sacred duty. Plainly, however, some do in fact make use of what time they are allotted to themselves — whether that means Ser Janlenoux's retreating to the Vault's kitchens, or the more boisterous pastimes of which Sers Grinnaux, Paulecrain, and Guerrique are fond. ]
Then I would endeavor to fulfill that request, and I look forward to the occasion.
[ And so he tries for a jest, one first step: ]
Rest assured that nothing will be left behind at the evening's end.
Then I would endeavor to fulfill that request, and I look forward to the occasion.
[ And so he tries for a jest, one first step: ]
Rest assured that nothing will be left behind at the evening's end.
Estinien hasn't been on the receiving end of this kind of attention since he was a young child, at the hands of his... well, his increasingly long diseased mother. As hard as it was for her to pull him in from the outdoors on some days, such grooming had felt natural and pleasant, even as he might complain. Since then, he's been left entirely to his own devices, and unwilling to take any offers.
Alberic had not been so bold as to assume it would be appreciated, and was more the sort to simply inform him that his hair needed to be dealt with if he was going to look even remotely civilized. It was a chore to be completed, and sometimes he would comply, other times refusing out of teenaged spite. As an adult, though, he's been entirely at liberty to do what he wants, with sometimes mixed results.
That he's here at all is incredibly meaningful in a way he doesn't even dare contemplate, hair combing included. At some point he'd just given in, relenting to the idea that it was allowable for Aymeric and him to exchange some degree of care for each other. They'd already come this far.
And look where that's gotten him.
"It's a cat, Aymeric, you need not coddle it so," he mumbles in disagreement, but otherwise refrains from grousing about how this was distantly compared to grooming a pet. As Aymeric appraises him, he lifts his eyebrows impatiently, only for his friend to escalate matters as he moves on from combing to actual styling.
Estinien lets him do it, however put upon he feels, though that doesn't stop his eyes from widening like something is bubbling up within him. Is this really necessary...
And then he's directed towards the mirror, in a gesture that so innocently and gently guides his thoughts to memories of the past... fragments of warm, homey moments that have long since faded within the pain soaked tides they now dwell. He sighs heavily, messing with his bangs.
"What a cruel deception," he says. "My first outfit would have been more honest."
Alberic had not been so bold as to assume it would be appreciated, and was more the sort to simply inform him that his hair needed to be dealt with if he was going to look even remotely civilized. It was a chore to be completed, and sometimes he would comply, other times refusing out of teenaged spite. As an adult, though, he's been entirely at liberty to do what he wants, with sometimes mixed results.
That he's here at all is incredibly meaningful in a way he doesn't even dare contemplate, hair combing included. At some point he'd just given in, relenting to the idea that it was allowable for Aymeric and him to exchange some degree of care for each other. They'd already come this far.
And look where that's gotten him.
"It's a cat, Aymeric, you need not coddle it so," he mumbles in disagreement, but otherwise refrains from grousing about how this was distantly compared to grooming a pet. As Aymeric appraises him, he lifts his eyebrows impatiently, only for his friend to escalate matters as he moves on from combing to actual styling.
Estinien lets him do it, however put upon he feels, though that doesn't stop his eyes from widening like something is bubbling up within him. Is this really necessary...
And then he's directed towards the mirror, in a gesture that so innocently and gently guides his thoughts to memories of the past... fragments of warm, homey moments that have long since faded within the pain soaked tides they now dwell. He sighs heavily, messing with his bangs.
"What a cruel deception," he says. "My first outfit would have been more honest."
[ That is dangerous enough in its own right. Purrhaps Aymeric has had a few too many glasses, though he affords himself the small excuse that it is a liquid balm as he tries to sludge through his in-person conversation. A much needed one at that. ]
I shall, my lord. Do enjoy the rest of your evening.
[ Which ought to be the end of it...
...that is until half a bell later ]
Three.
She has three cats.
I shall, my lord. Do enjoy the rest of your evening.
[ Which ought to be the end of it...
...that is until half a bell later ]
Three.
She has three cats.
Full glad am I to hear it, Ser. I shall send word once the date is secured.
[ Though he unable to hear the rewards of his effort, it does get a chuckle from Aymeric all the same. ]
Your decorum is much appreciated. Mayhaps my other guests may yet learn from your shining example.
[ Though he unable to hear the rewards of his effort, it does get a chuckle from Aymeric all the same. ]
Your decorum is much appreciated. Mayhaps my other guests may yet learn from your shining example.
Aymeric purses his lips at the (expected) admonishment of how he cares for his dear pet. Estinien and Croquembouche have not gotten along since the day they met, though in all fairness to Estinien, Croquembouche does not get along with much anyone other than Aymeric and his elderly mother. Alfred is allowed some leeway given that he is oft the bringer of food, so Croquembouche tolerates his presence more often than not.
"He is a beloved member of the family," Aymeric corrects. It only make sense that he care for a creature that he willingly took on responsibility for and who offers him comfort and companionship in turn.
Estinien's appraisal of his own appearance, however, forces a warm laugh to bubble up from deep in Aymeric's chest. One last brush of his friend's shoulders and Aymeric forces himself to stop his fiddling and fussing.
"I hold few doubts that your magnanimous aura will keep a few onlookers at bay."
His gaze stays on the mirror for a moment--the pair they make, two young men now presentable towards the most revered members of society. Aymeric may be a noble in status, but when he sees the two of them side by side, he feels greater kinship with Estinien than those whom he will be brushing elbows with for the evening. This man with whom he has shared so much all ready--darker secrets and admissions both on and off of the battlefield, someone of grand ambitions and the will to accomplish them, someone who does not begrudge him his origins or his thoughts, only his choice of feline companion--of which he gladly returns in kind to someone he is finding he admires so, grumbling and grumpiness in all.
Aymeric's smile slowly shifts from amused to fond, then he turns to face Estinien properly rather than their reflections.
"Jests aside," he begins. "I could not want for better company this evening. You have my thanks, Estinien."
"He is a beloved member of the family," Aymeric corrects. It only make sense that he care for a creature that he willingly took on responsibility for and who offers him comfort and companionship in turn.
Estinien's appraisal of his own appearance, however, forces a warm laugh to bubble up from deep in Aymeric's chest. One last brush of his friend's shoulders and Aymeric forces himself to stop his fiddling and fussing.
"I hold few doubts that your magnanimous aura will keep a few onlookers at bay."
His gaze stays on the mirror for a moment--the pair they make, two young men now presentable towards the most revered members of society. Aymeric may be a noble in status, but when he sees the two of them side by side, he feels greater kinship with Estinien than those whom he will be brushing elbows with for the evening. This man with whom he has shared so much all ready--darker secrets and admissions both on and off of the battlefield, someone of grand ambitions and the will to accomplish them, someone who does not begrudge him his origins or his thoughts, only his choice of feline companion--of which he gladly returns in kind to someone he is finding he admires so, grumbling and grumpiness in all.
Aymeric's smile slowly shifts from amused to fond, then he turns to face Estinien properly rather than their reflections.
"Jests aside," he begins. "I could not want for better company this evening. You have my thanks, Estinien."
Estinien is also contending with particularly fond feelings at the moment, something that always sets him off balance with its rareness. It enables a sense of contentedness that he is usually incapable of - and any time it arises in him, he can't help but feel some amount of guilt.
It leaves him feeling more cooperative than he usually might be, though, and he offers a smile approximating his acceptance of the sentiment. Even if that probably means that Aymeric just has bad taste.
"You might have found company that would not make you so late to arrive," he says wryly, though with generally good humor. "I imagine that I have delayed proceedings enough."
It leaves him feeling more cooperative than he usually might be, though, and he offers a smile approximating his acceptance of the sentiment. Even if that probably means that Aymeric just has bad taste.
"You might have found company that would not make you so late to arrive," he says wryly, though with generally good humor. "I imagine that I have delayed proceedings enough."
His smile brightens, slipping back into amused as Aymeric gives a shake of his head, as if the idea of having other company is just out of the realm of possibility.
"There is something to being 'fashionably late', as it were. And I do believe we now account for both being fashionable and late." Yet he clearly holds no ill will for the latter, at least this time. If asked, he would fully admit to having a good time getting to search through his wardrobe and see what might fit Estinien both physically and aesthetically, trying to be mindful of his friend's preferences as he could be.
He motions towards the door before leading the way out of his room. A quick stop down the hall to bade his mother a good night--her health has taken a significant dip in this last year, yet she does not want her son to spend what free time he does have waiting around on her--and then they are down the stairs. Alfred has light coats ready for the both of them, simple but with clean lines and the same shade of blue with the Borel family crest on the lapel. The manservant helps Aymeric's into his instinctively, though he has since learned to merely make an offer to Estinien. (His lance, it seems, is no longer kept in the closet during his visits.)
"We shan't be too late, Alfred," Aymeric says as he adjusts the line of his coat.
"Shall I have someone retrieve you at House Fortemps ere the end?"
Aymeric shakes his head. "Nay. Should we find ourselves lost in the Pillars I believe 'twould be our own doing."
Alfred bows, keeping a hint of his own smile in check. "As you wish, my lord."
Once Estinien appears ready, Aymeric offers a final wave to the sole manservant of House Borel and starts them off down the street. The evening is still young, the tiniest bits of sunset still visible through the towers, though the sky overall has grown dark and blue. Streetlamps have all ready been lit and they pass by families returning to their own homes, as well as other nobles clearly making their way towards the Last Vigil as well.
"There is something to being 'fashionably late', as it were. And I do believe we now account for both being fashionable and late." Yet he clearly holds no ill will for the latter, at least this time. If asked, he would fully admit to having a good time getting to search through his wardrobe and see what might fit Estinien both physically and aesthetically, trying to be mindful of his friend's preferences as he could be.
He motions towards the door before leading the way out of his room. A quick stop down the hall to bade his mother a good night--her health has taken a significant dip in this last year, yet she does not want her son to spend what free time he does have waiting around on her--and then they are down the stairs. Alfred has light coats ready for the both of them, simple but with clean lines and the same shade of blue with the Borel family crest on the lapel. The manservant helps Aymeric's into his instinctively, though he has since learned to merely make an offer to Estinien. (His lance, it seems, is no longer kept in the closet during his visits.)
"We shan't be too late, Alfred," Aymeric says as he adjusts the line of his coat.
"Shall I have someone retrieve you at House Fortemps ere the end?"
Aymeric shakes his head. "Nay. Should we find ourselves lost in the Pillars I believe 'twould be our own doing."
Alfred bows, keeping a hint of his own smile in check. "As you wish, my lord."
Once Estinien appears ready, Aymeric offers a final wave to the sole manservant of House Borel and starts them off down the street. The evening is still young, the tiniest bits of sunset still visible through the towers, though the sky overall has grown dark and blue. Streetlamps have all ready been lit and they pass by families returning to their own homes, as well as other nobles clearly making their way towards the Last Vigil as well.
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