bakabaka | Style'd on 'em in this Burberry trench

Style'd on 'em in this Burberry trench

[ Before the great war, the fourth prince of Torna hadn't had much of an aspiration to do much of anything in the way of politics. That sort of thing had always been set for his elder siblings, especially as the one member of the family so removed from the throne as he (for more reasons than one). He had been content on being the humble lord of the outskirts of the Titan, traveling as he would wish and using his time and skills to help the people he served. But becoming the bearer of the second Aegis-Blade had meant that his wish for a quiet life was over. Soon he had begun hearing others call him a hero, the hero. The Addam Origo, the one who awakened the Aegis and now uses it to defend the world of Alrest.

Yet being thrust into the forefront of the war with an ultra-powerful Blade also meant that he is now in the spotlight. He has the eyes and honor of attention of not just the commonfolk and those directly affected by the war, but those who still sit upon cushions in their manors and worry not of what they might have for supper in the evening. The brokers, the bankers, the diplomats, the nobles... and, of course, the various royals of the Titans.

All of whom seem to be gathered this even of a gala hosted by Mor Ardain.

Despite his lackadaisical nature Addam cleans up fairly well, and tonight he's even allowed one of his retainers to comb his thick mess of silver hair back. Which, honestly, completes the tailored, formal black uniform he wears. Medals from various battles and achievements adorn the left of his jacket, and a regal silken sash stretches from his shoulder to his hip, bearing his family's emblem in gold proudly. "Wow, you actually look like a prince", Mythra had oh-so-dryly commented to him when he had emerged from the guest room of the palace for the evening, to which he only smiled at her. It had been as much as a genuine compliment as he could get from the Aegis in a while. But even with her words on his mind, he had known even then that a gala dealing with the elites of Mor Ardain would be quite the test indeed.

A harrowing one, as it turns out, and it is hours before he even has a moment to himself. Compared to hearing the praise and wonder from those he has rescued and helped before within the hamlets of the Titan-outskirts ravaged by Malos, the words of the lords and ladies seem so shallow. They are not effected by the first Aegis; they live in luxury of the old names of their houses or the new money of the emerging empire; they are safe. Of course not all of them are like that, but it does get tiresome after hearing the same tone for the upteenth time that night, whether it be the praise of men with not-so-subtle hints to invest in their business or the batting eyes of women in his direction, hoping that they may lure a prince this night. It's moments like these that he longs for the quiet campfire among companions as travel-worn yet determined as he is to see peace restored. Of banter and laughter alike, of a good meal scrapped from the area and hunt around them.

All of those companions, save the children, are actually here, he knows that. But it is simply not the same, and not even the pleasant taste of wine upon his tongue can help with that.

Scanning the room he first spots Hugo, the young and bright-eyed emperor. How small he looks without his armor! The nobels that speak with them clearly do not know of what he is actually capable. He is truly a natural among them, and it almost surprises Addam how easily Hugo has adjusted to the practically stifling nature of the gala without a blink of discomfort. The Emperor is far more the ruler than Addam could ever hope to be, and he can't help the bit of wonder and pride at knowing him at all in these formative years. What sort of man will he grow to be, if he is this gracious and grand already? Aegaeon stands next to him like a hand-appointed guard, and it is only because of his stoic stare that the lords do not dare even look at Hugo with even a thought to try using him because of his youth. A little ways off is Brighid, and Addam finds some amusement from the envious stares of many of the ladies as their husbands turn to watch her as she walks by them, blue curls of fire flowing behind her effortlessly. She is-- and will always be-- the belle of the ball. Even if she had decided to wear a wheat sack as a dress this night, she would be as graceful and striking in both beauty and wit as ever. Speaking of blades--

He spots his own and... internally cringes as he watches Mythra juggle two plates of food at once. She, too, has a number of admirers despite the fact that her personality leaves much to be desired. But what intrigue those that draw to her most is, of course, the legends of her power. It is fortunate, then, that Mythra appears willfully oblivious to-- or perhaps pointedly ignoring-- their offers, instead practically ordering them to bring her more samples of basted duck. She likes being in charge for a change. Addam can only pray that she is not leaking any sensitive information. Yet slowly he has come to suspect that the second Aegis is more of an observer of human behavior than someone who interacts with others of her own accord, and so he trusts that she will do nothing untoward to others tonight. At least, not unprovoked. The gala interests her, he surmises, much like how a child would wonder at a glass cross-section of an ant colony.

Addam catches Mythra's golden eyes in his own, because of course she does. The Blade has an uncanny nature to know whenever his thoughts are about her. The Aegis simply scoffs and shrugs one shoulder as if to silently say What? I'm not doing anything!, turning back to her plate.

Smiling a bit to himself, his eyes begin to roam through the room once more as he nurses a bit more of his glass of wine, soon coming upon another member from his band of companions. But actually seeing her causes his smile to vanish in an instant. The poor girl, she looks completely out of her element here. It doesn't matter if Hugo offered her impromptu dance lessons of the more popular waltzes aboard his flagship in preparation of the event. It doesn't matter if he had also had someone come to her and tailor the current dress she wears, which is made of material so fine that it would cost her more than what she makes in five years. It also doesn't matter if there are those in the party that take an interest in her and her own feats-- a knight of Torna, the wielder of Jin, the nation's paragon! She looks lost among the gold and glamour, surrounded by her own admirers, of men seeking her hand in the name of her fame she's crafted by her own strength, of the flattery from those that give their titles to her first as if she should praise them in return just because they exist.... ]

Would you care for a dance, my lady?

[ It will be his hand in front of her, followed by his voice, deeper in tone out of habit at such an event. Yet it's a voice that greets her with the same charisma and courtesy as when he had first met her-- ] It would be my honor; I've only heard great things about you, after all. [ --as well as a at playful glint in his golden eyes as he looks at her, awaiting her response.

Whoever has been talking to her (or trying to) would have quickly stepped to the side as he'd have approached, knowing that whoever the Addam Origo chooses to speak with, he will have his wish. But Addam is not here to demand her attention. He is here to give her an out from how others might be stifling her. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ This is not her world and never will be. This dress is just a temporary disguise she’s wearing, affording her the rare opportunity to get a tiny glimpse of a world many times removed from her own. But though the disguise is perfect, she's no actor. It will work for the night, but once the moon has risen high enough and she’s finally allowed to take her leave, she won't be any more royal or noble than she was before she came.

Her true nature will never be able to match the expensive dress that Hugo had designed for her. Scarlet red and trimmed with gold—to match her eyes, they said—with only the medal Addam had given her on the king’s behalf adorning it. There is, at least, some practicality and a more modest professionalism to its design, but only because the tailor had taken pity on her, no doubt sensing she was uncomfortable enough as it was. So he had spared her from having to wear a dress similar in style to what many of the women here have taken to wearing, all low-cut and purposefully provocative, meant to catch the eye of anyone who would just so happen to look their way.

She's certainly garnered enough attention without it. She doesn’t mind socializing. She enjoys being around other people. But there's something uniquely stifling about this place. Perhaps it’s because almost all of the men and women here have lived a life completely opposite to her own. They have different goals, different expectations, and that’s to be expected. But she’s finds herself at a loss sometimes, not knowing how she’s supposed to respond when they ask her questions questions she doesn’t have a tactful answer to.

What is she supposed to say when they ask her about her family? Her father? Her mother? What story should she tell the men and women here when they ask her to tell them about how her life was before all of—well—this. They certainly expect something of her, but Lora doubts that she can ever hope to satisfy their lofty expectations. She can never be the woman they no doubt imagine her to be.

So when Addam approaches her, offering her a temporary exit from the controlled chaos, the relief she feels is immediate and immeasurable. ]

Thank you, [ she says, flashing him one of the few truly genuine smiles she’s given to anyone tonight. ] You may want to reconsider though. [ She takes his hand, feeling some of the uncomfortable tenseness in her neck and shoulders evaporate. ] A few hours of lessons aboard an airship doesn’t make me any more of a dancer than I was a week ago.

[ Which is to say, not one at all. ]

[ When her hand sets upon his, his fingers curl around hers and he begins to lead her towards the floor. He’s glad to see that her nervousness has somewhat subsided with his company, and if he is to be honest he feels the same. Addam would much prefer to be conversing with someone who knows and understands him rather than keep up the airs of a prince among foreign dignitaries. Although he may not have known her for long, she and her two Blades have made quite the helpful and welcome traveling companions. Lora in particular has quite the pragmatic and generous nature, much similar to his own, and so he appreciates her presence. Stealing her away from the crowd for a dance to ease her stress is the least he can do. ]

I fear that you may not find much confidence with my own two left feet, then. [ He chuckles casually, thinking about how his own dance lessons had gone in his youth. While he’s not terrible, he is no expert. Mor Adrain’s culture is very different from his own, and their dances could be just as rigid. It’s fortunate that this one is a waltz, which he finds is a little be easier.

Once they are upon the edge of the dance floor, he raises his hand to carry hers higher, while the other goes to deftly slip about her waist, feeling the fabric of the dress beneath his fingertips. The motion is indeed smooth as he pulls her towards him, practiced and secure, as he has done this before. Then to reassure her once more, Addam dips his head some towards her, dropping his voice so that only she may hear. ]

But do not worry. Just follow my lead, and I’ll make sure that the both of us won’t embarrass ourselves tonight.

[ And with that, the dance begins. ]

[ She’s more than happy to allow Addam to take the lead, letting her other hand come to rest just below his shoulder once they finally reach the dance floor. His personality is as unfairly infectious as ever, and it’s impossible for her not to smile fondly back when when he speaks to her. She can see now why his people love him so. And for once, the idea dancing with someone doesn't seem so daunting of a task, even if her dress she's wearing restricts her movement, with shoes that do her feet absolutely no favors at all. At least her hair won’t be getting in the way, braided and tied neatly up behind her head with a borrowed gold pin helping keeping it in place.

She grips his arm, perhaps a bit more tightly than is strictly necessary, when the music begins. She lets him take the first step and follows where he leads her. The lessons Hugo provided her with have not been in vain. She recognizes the music, and knows the steps she’s supposed to follow. Her movements are rigid at first, her steps correct, at least, but unsure. But once she gets a feel for the music and the tempo of the song, her steps become more self-assured and the hold she has on his arm loosens. She’s confident enough now, at least, to stop repeating the deliberate 1-2-3 beat in her mind, all to make sure her feet match the tempo the song is setting. Enough to finally look beyond she and Addam’s own little bubble of existence to spot a familiar flash of gold hair quickly followed by the owner it belongs to. She can't see everything that's going on clearly. But Lora can see enough to tell that Mythra is clearly more interested in her plate full of food—now down to one, at least for the moment—and the dessert table near her than the Urayan man trying to court her attention. He appears to be failing miserably.

She almost laughs, but stifles it. ]

Was that your plan?

[ Stick her near to the banquet tables and hope she behaves. ]

[ He's patient with her steps as she becomes accustomed to the dance, leading her through the music. It helps that she has a knack for learning, and learning quickly at that. Not many people, especially those who claim to be mercenaries, can claim to be decent at a high-Ardanian waltz. ]

Why, I have no idea what you mean. [ He responds in kind as they spin along with the song. But his gaze would tell otherwise, keeping up an air casual faux denial.

Of course he knows to what she is referring. Mythra is almost always on his mind for better or for worse, as is his worry about her power and what a loose cannon it can be. ] The Aegis is clearly a responsible, mature young women.

[ He says that.... but Mythra definitely just shoved that piece of chocolate cake in her mouth. Addam considers that a victory because she did not shove it in the face of the helpless Urayan man. ]

Edited (what the hell typos ) 2018-11-22 07:37 (UTC)

[ Well. Lora can't hold the laugh back this time, and she almost takes a step to the right instead of a more generous step back, but she corrects it. The only feet she’s okay with stumbling over tonight are her own. And even then, she would rather it not be on the dance floor. ]

I can tell she’s taking her duties here very seriously.

[ If nothing else, Lora can certainly find something to admire in Mythra’s ability to seemingly stay true to herself no matter what the circumstance. As completely shameless as she may be, the world will not change her so easily. ]

As are you, from the looks of it. [ And at that, her gaze turns more sympathetic. ] You’ve been gone for hours. I’m surprised you were able to get away.

[ ....She's got him there, and as a result he gives her a bit of a sigh. It's not use to hide things from her, let alone deny that, and he has found more often than not that he wouldn't want to, anyway. She has a knack for easing his thoughts and burdens because she's easy to talk to. ] Ah, well. If you're assuming I'd rather be at a tavern instead, you would be right about that.

[ At least he would be among the people. ]

But as much as this is tedious... it is good for us all to be here, too. [ There's a pause as he preps for the next turn, and then he goes on to say: ] It is these high-born families that sponsor a great deal of efforts. [ He would never tell her to smile and laugh pleasantly at some nobleman's joke she didn't think was funny, but. It couldn't hurt to flatter them, either. ]

One can say that many of those we have helped is because of their, ah, ...good graces. [ With their deep pockets. ]

[ She arches an brow as she follows him into the turn.

Good graces? That was certainly a tactful way of putting it.

Though it isn’t like her former mercenary band had operated any differently. Their benefactors were rarely as noble or as well-off as these, but plenty of them had enough gold to burn. The rich kept them employed, everyone else supplemented their income. ]

I’m sure they’re good people. [ Most of them. Even if majority of them seemed like they were… a bit removed from the world at large. It’s hard to notice what is happening on the ground beneath you when you’re sitting inside your manor built upon the clouds. Though there are some, she gets the feeling, who are more interested in what her medal represents than her. But she can’t begrudge anyone here for being born into a better life than most. ]

I don’t mind being here. [ It is uncomfortable—she can’t pretend not to be—but if she can contribute in some small way, if her being here will help Hugo or their situation at all, she’ll learn to dance to the beat of their music, wear her hair up, and try to understand. ] Though I don't think it's unfair of me to wish that their tastes were a little more down to earth. For your sanity and mine.

[ She's catching on quick with the dance. And as the musicians continue the song, he's actually realizing that he's enjoying it. At least, enjoying it in comparison to all the flattery and conversation he had to endure earlier. It's quite refreshing. ] Ah, well. I'm glad to hear that you're having something of an experience here.

[ Although he can agree with her on the point that the festivities are indeed mentally exhausting. Keeping up a front is hard, especially with someone like him that tends to wear their hearts on their sleeve. And speaking of clothes-pieces...

As he looks down at her then, only now does he notice that he hadn't noticed her outfit before now, or even her hair. He has a tendency look past such things, and then there's the matter that he is both observant and dense at the same time. But now that he has become aware, he can see that the emperor's staff truly made a fine gown that would suit nobody else but her, and whoever did her hair must truly be an artist. ]

...You look lovely, by the way.

[ She's always lovely, though, from the way her strength contributes to their party to her caring personality. ]

[ An experience is an apt way to put it. One she won’t forget so quickly. But a life such as this is one she doesn’t believe she could ever fully acclimate to. A gala certainly lacks the intimacy and closeness of a handful of people huddled around the campfire. ]

Thank you, [ she says, with a smile that suggests his is one of the few compliments that has come from a place of actual sincerity. ] So do you.

[ He’s finally let someone untangle that silver mess of hair for him, she sees.

Looking at him now only reminds her how easy it is to forget that he is an heir to the Tornan throne. And that, she thinks, is hardly a mark against him, like it might be for so many others. But now he truly looks the part, with his fine armor traded out for a formal black uniform. He’s always been a handsome man, though it’s his compassion and confidence that has always stood out to her more. Her interests may lie elsewhere, in a far more serious direction, but never could she ever hope to meet another as authentic and capable as he is. Lora will always be glad she met him.

She takes a step back, wishing, for a moment, that thin, stiletto heels were something that had never been invented. And when she does, her eyes drift briefly down to his array of medals pinned to his jacket. A different emotion flickers into her eyes then. ]

...You've never had a dull moment in your life, have you?

[ The dance is almost over-- just a few more spins here and there, a pass across the floor, and it should be over soon enough to rest her feet. ...But Addam is also a guy and even if he is very! caring! he never is aware enough to ask about a woman's soreness after wearing heels.

So! ] Ah, what, these old things?

[ He catches her gaze to the side of his chest, and as a result he smiles a tad sheepishly. If he weren't holding her at her waist and hand, one of those hands of his would certainly have gone to the back of his head to scratch it. ] Awards for battles and the like. [ He tells her, his tone just a little bit dismissive-- not towards her, but in the sense that he doesn't seem to wish to speak of the nature of those battles. It reflects a bit in his own eyes when he looks at her, bringing her out for a spin. ]

...Although, I could have done without them. I would rather take a "dull" life than having earned any of it.

[ Fortunately for Addam, she would not certainly wish the first-hand knowledge of what a pair of heels can feel like on a hard floor on anyone. Even for the chance to perhaps commiserate together on their misfortunate design. She’ll put up with them or a night, and tell Hugo to send her thanks to her tailor.

The spin, however, is a bit harder to execute on command, a little outside the repetitive pattern she of steps she has grown used to, but she manages, spinning around once and back in. Not the smoothest, but at least no one will accuse her of not paying attention to the lessons she had been given. Once she has her hand on his shoulder again, her gaze doesn’t return to the medals, just back to him. ]

…I hope when this is all over, you’ll be able to go back to your fields. [ Like she had overheard him saying to Mythra, not long ago. Perhaps he would even be in the middle of it now, were it not for the war and his resonating with the other Aegis. ] You of all people deserve that.

[ There's one last part of the dance for them to complete, and he leads her through the dance floor, the edges of her scarlet gown sweeping the floor after them. ] Ah, that's very kind of you to say so.

[ He would very much like to return to the days before he became "the" Addam Origo, recognized as a hero throughout the Titans in the efforts against the first Aegis. Before his brothers had paid attention to him for becoming the second Aegis' Driver. Those were the days where he could explore the vast expanse of the cloud-sea, discovering new Titans and lands... ] But peace on Alrest is deserved by everyone here. Peace that I hope that one day--

[ The final turn involves a bit of a lift, and he securely puts his hands upon her waist for it, his natural strength making it as graceful a lift as it is a descent. When she's finally placed back upon the ground, he grins at her. ] --You'll be able to enjoy it as well.

[ Because she, too, has had most of her life fighting.

Addam will then link his arm in hers, leading her away from the dance floor as the musicians bow for the applause. ] What do you say to a glass of wine?

[ She’s surprised at the ease at which he lifts her—though she knows she probably shouldn't be surprised at all—and when her feet are firmly planted on the ground again, there’s the temptation to add showoff to the list of adjectives she would (playfully) use to describe him when he grins at her like that. But she’ll refrain.

She’s not about to argue against his point, however, when he links his arm hers. ]

At this point, I’ll wouldn’t mind.

[ Everyone deserves their own separate peace. But that doesn’t mean there’s not a spot left for him. Perhaps when this is all over, when the war is won and they no longer have to race against an invisible hourglass or damage to repair, they can travel somewhere, one last time before the crossroads of life lead them all in different directions, to cross again how they may. Perhaps they can go somewhere where no one knows their names for a week, maybe two—surely he can suffer himself to be a little selfish for that long—and there he can just be Addam. No last name. No title. Just himself. ]

You’ll have to tell me what you recommend. [ About the only thing she knows about the wines served here are their color and a few unfamiliar names. ] I'm afraid I know little about them.

The wines of Uraya and Mor Aradin are very, ah, different from those of Torna, you will find. Not as strong-- or rather, not strong at all in my opinion. [ He leads her still arm-in-arm to the table, draped in white silk and adorned with a garish ice sculpture, as they begin to browse the extensive selection. Servers clad is pressed ceremonial jackets line the opposite end the table, ready to pour whatever it is that they choose. ]

May I recommend... [ His brow furrows in the exact same way it would before planning a strategy for a battle, as if the choices weighted here are exactly the same. ] ...The deep red of the Eight-Rock Skip vineyard? Succulent, aromatic, and with a fair bit of tang to it, it leaves a pleasant, tingling aftertaste upon one's lips.

Or perhaps this dry white, the Fief of Forgetfulness, crafted upon the shoulder of this very titan we dine upon! It has a hidden kick to it despite its pale colour, with a hint of pear at the pinnacle of its ripeness, I should say.

[ Even as he's talking about which wines they should choose, the servers are already prepping cups for them to taste before taking a full glass. One will hand Lora the first sample. ]

And then... [ Quite quickly, all of the charisma leaves him, and Addam's eyes narrow as he looks at the next bottle. ] ...Another red. From Coeia.

[ ....He doubts the Emperor would even know that it's being served at the gala. But just looking at it leaves terrible taste in his mouth, and she'll see that his hand has tightened into a fist. Oh, yes, the remnants of Coeians forces have proved themselves to be quite a nuisance, but they had also just lost their nation-- and in one night at that. To serve a wine from a Titan no longer migrating about the clouds is practically an insult. This bottle, still unopened, should be preserved. Not used for this pompous celebration. ]

I will take a glass of the Fief. [ He tells the server, his voice low. Although his eyes still remained on the Coeian vintage. ]

[ Lora's eyes sweep over the vast array of wines like every shade of color she sees there is a hue new to her eyes. The reds, the whites, the cloudy grays—there are even wines so gold in color they might easily match her dress. She takes the sample one of the servers offer her, filled with the same deep red wine Addam had recommended to her first. It certainly is as aromatic as he claims, and she takes a careful, experimental taste of it when he mentions the last. Her tongue quickly forgets to convey to her the subtleties of the wine's sweet aftertaste as she looks sharply over at him, her arm stiffening around his, like perhaps she had heard him wrong. ]

From Coeia? But—

[ That had to be wrong. Certainly no sommelier who was even remotely aware of current events would be so thoughtless as to allow their table to stock such a vintage. They would know better. But her gaze follows his, and he is not wrong. She knows very little about the Coeian nation, but she would recognize its emblem just as easily as she would Torna’s. It has to be a mistake. A poor one. And that’s why the bottle has stayed untouched and unopened all these hours. No one would dare. …But even so.

She sees how Addam's hand has curled around itself and she feels her smile fade just as much in turn. She carefully sets down her sample glass, allowing her arm to unlink a little from his as her hand wraps itself gently but firmly around his wrist instead. ]

You know... [ She leans forward, her voice just loud enough for both the servers and Addam to hear. ] The Emperor suggested something to me earlier. He said that I might take home a bottle of wine as a souvenir. Something to remember the gala by. I can’t possibly take this dress with me, after all. …Perhaps you would recommend the Coeian red? It’s not been opened yet, so I’m sure I could ask these fine people put it aside for me. For later.

[ It takes him a moment for her words to connect to the plan she's revealing before him, and when it does his grim expression warms once more. Although his gaze remains hardened, there's a newfound glint in his eyes as he looks down at her, his hand relaxing. Addam reaches over and gives her a pat upon her forearm still links within his, then gesturing outward with it. ]

Well, you all heard my wonderful lady knight. [ There was definitely a "my" just now; to these people, she works under his command. And while it's true that he had conducted the ceremony to appoint her, he would never actually refer to her with something so possessive in any other context. It's all part of the show.

Regardless the smile has returned at last, as has his charisma, although it may appear more of a flashy demeanor to someone who actually knows him. He's taken on the air of a right and proper prince, and the servers seem to respond to it by standing more at attention, their nervous looks at Lora first mentioning that she should take the wine easing considerably when he speaks. ]

If she so chooses the Coeian vintage, she shall have it. Deliver it to her quarters immediately. [ The order is obliged with bows and "Yes, Your Highness"s deserving of the show. They take the bottle from the display in a rushed manner, ushering one of the errand boys to the task.

Content with their response, Addam brings his current glass of wine up, but doesn't take a sip of it just yet. ] Very clever, Lora. Very clever indeed. [ He praises, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. ] I knew I brought you here for a reason.

[ She can’t help but feel relieved when the servers relax, no longer looking at her as if she presented a very real risk to their continued employment. She’s equally relieved to see the vintage gone, though it occurs to her there might be more stored away somewhere. But with the current selection of wine on offer, she has trouble believing the servers here will be needing any more stock. Surely they have enough.

She flashes him a relieved smile when he turns to her. She’s not sure if she could have managed it alone. Without some badgering, anyway. ]

What, it wasn’t for my charming personality? [ It’s all in jest, however, and she picks up her sample glass again, finishing the last of the wine the server had poured her, and decides she doesn’t mind it. She can appreciate something more subtle than the stronger wines of Torna that she’s had the chance to try occasionally. And she certainly prefers it to to the beer the mercenary camps tend to keep and ferment themselves. For morale, or so they say. She politely asks for another, and the server pours her a proper glass to take. ]

I heard there’s a balcony just out the door there, [ she says, gesturing to her right, just a small ways from them, past two gold sculptures in the shape of crouching Griffox. ] I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t mind some fresh air.

[ Look at him. He's in such a better mood already, there's almost a bounce to his step. ]

I agree, whole-hearted. [ He grins, and his arm around hers is looser as he leads her out of the banquet hall. The skyline of Mor Ardain in the Empire's infancy is nothing like it would become in the following centuries, but it still impressive to behold. Precursors to their taller buildings and factories, dotted with lights and the activity of smith-workers still toiling away into the night, shimmer just beyond the demesne, and the smell of rust, iron, and the dryness of the Ardanian titan can be mistaken for no other.

It's here that he de-links his arm from around hers, turning to share his grin with her. ] Now this is more like it!

A lovely night, a good glass of wine, and fine company. [ He raises his glass. ] I don't think I could ask for anything more. [ Except, ya know. World peace. But eh. ]

[ World peace. And a happy ending. But hey, you can’t have everything.

She’s glad, though, for the fresh air. The inexplicably dry fresh air that greets her the moment she sets foot on the balcony. But she’ll take the rusty air over the near-stifling atmosphere of the gala (though it's still leagues better than claustrophobic, restrictive confines of an airship.) At least out here, she can see the sky, even if the horizon that greets her is far different from the one she's used to seeing.

She raises her glass, playfully tapping against his. She has no desire for stiff formalities wen there are no eyes watching that care—she may even give into the temptation to slouch a little soon—but she doesn’t mind playing along a little anyway. She's glad to see he's smiling again. It's almost unnerving to see him without one. ]

I think I can see most of the city from here.

[ She appreciates the view, appreciates it in all its hardworking, budding industry, but, somehow, it makes her miss Torna. Perhaps it's because of how barren Mor Ardain seems to be in comparison. But perhaps a thousand years ago, the titan had been almost as green. ]

Now where’s this fief we should be drinking to?

I'm... not sure, although I believe I've been there once or twice. [ It is called the Fief of Forgetfulness, afterall.

Addam chuckles, leaning a bit against the railing of the balcony. The dry winds of Mor Ardian are not so harsh up here, and a breeze is all it takes to start to undo his painstakingly sculpted, combed-back hair style. ]

Time permitting, perhaps we can look for it ourselves later. [ Yeah, right, as if they have any time for side quests.^/s ] However I think we should be drinking to... you! And Jin and Haze, of course. For being such an excellent members of our very peculiar, very eclectic team.

I don’t think that’s fair.

[ The clamor of the gala is now nothing but background noise, and her eyes run across the lights of city for a moment before her eyes return to his. ]

None of us would be here if it wasn’t for you, you know. This all may very well be your fault. [ Though Mythra can also take her share of the blame. As far as first meetings go, she still finds theirs positively baffling. She’s not sure she’s ever met a man who could make her cycle through emotions so quickly. ] It’s nice, to not have to hide anymore.

[ Seventeen years they’ve been running. It’s strange, to not have to be overly cautious. To not have to make Jin wear his mask almost everywhere they go. ]

The three of us should be drinking to you, if anything.

[ It was an interesting first meeting, to say the least. But he has his own regrets about it, too. Like Mythra using her Artifice so close to them all within the battle. He's come to learn that the Aegis calibrates the exact power output needed to achieve her goals-- whether that be total annihilation of an enemy versus simply blocking an attack-- but there is always that doubt, that what if she makes a mistake, a miscalculation.... ]

You've earned your place in the annals of history, Lora. [ Addam tells her, his golden eyes soft as he looks at her. ] As driver of two powerful blades, one of which is the Paragon of our nation... and as someone who is fighting against Malos.

[ His smile is proud, appreciating, but his tone is more distant, as if he is not saying all that is on his mind. ] Were it only that we could have met you sooner...

[ She grins at the thought, only for her brows to knit together a second later at the distant tone his words are taking. ]

I would’ve liked to have known you when we were both younger.

[ Though his realm was one they had avoided when they could, because of its ties to the royal family—at least, once Addam became the lord of it. There were some things you didn’t risk when you possessed the regalia of the Tornan royal family, no matter the rumors that reached your ears. ]

Though I can’t imagine you being much different from the person you are now.

[ She puts a little of her weight against the balcony’s railing, and she falls silent for a moment as she stares back at him, like maybe she could draw something out of those eyes of his, head tilting a little to the side. ] …You know, I think you wear your heart on more than just your sleeve.

[ Lora is a woman who he often thinks he knows and can read himself, and then she goes and says something like this, throwing a wrench into the construct of her in his mind. He has to stop doing that, underestimating how perceptive and mindful she is. She would have made for an excellent diplomat, had she been born into the right circumstances... ]

Ah? [ He brings the glass of wine to his lips as if in habit, nursing a sip of the drink upon his tongue. Not because he needs the drink, but because it makes for a good cover to fill the pause that follows. Which is strange in of itself, because he usually does not feel as if he has to cover anything, certainly not from Lora; yet when she looks at him as if she could read right into his soul, he feels... vulnerable is not quite the word. But something close to it. ]

How so? [ His tone remains light, flighty, as if humoring her. ]

[ When he asks her how, Lora hesitates, unsure how to verbally formulate the image she has of him in her mind. She sets her glass down on the balcony railing, the tip of her finger circling around the rim in an absent motion before she tilts her head to look over at him. ]

…It’s difficult to explain. [ She wonders if she even can explain it. ] But if I had to say how, it’s probably because you’re so… genuine, I suppose. No one I’ve met yet has been quite like you. [ Though her social circle is relatively small in comparison to his. And most of her actual acquaintances are other mercenaries, and most of them have the tendency to be at least a little closed off rather than open for reasons she can understand. ] If you say you are something, chances are I’d believe you, because I can usually see it just by looking at you. You don’t really try to hide the person you are, like some people I’ve seen do.

And I’m sure that’s why so many people trust you. [ That had certainly seemed to be the case back in Aletta. ] At least, I can see why Milton would follow you halfway around the Cloud Sea for three years.

But it makes it difficult to see you as being anything other than the man I see in front of me right now. [ She pauses again, taking a careful sip of her wine while the city glimmers below. ] Like back in Gormott aboard Hugo’s airship. I couldn’t have ever imagined you as being anything other than confident, because that confidence was all I was used to seeing from you. Except for that small moment when you weren’t. It wasn’t like you. But you were still showing it, even behind all that confidence.

And that’s probably why it’s so hard, sometimes, to know what I should do. Because you do wear your heart everywhere. You look fine now. But you obviously weren’t a moment ago. And I still don’t know if I should be asking you if you’re all right, or if should instead be suggesting we make a diplomatic visit to the wine cellar to make sure every last bottle of that wine is gone. Or if I should just pretend nothing happened and drop the matter entirely. All because you don’t look like someone’s gone and stabbed you in the back anymore, because you must be fine now, because you're acting like you normally do. [ Her lips thin into a contemplative line, eyes softening. ] But that doesn’t mean what I saw earlier was any less real either. And now I’m stuck having to decide to trust in what I see now or pursue what I saw before that might still be there.

And now you sound like you have something else on your mind, and I’m not sure what. Am I supposed to just ignore it? Should I be reassuring you that it’s fine we that we didn't cross paths earlier, like maybe you’re wishing you could have been there to fix a few of my problems so Jin and Haze and I wouldn’t have had to be so careful. Because I wouldn’t have traded any of the years I lived for anything, even if it made our lives a little easier. ...And it might not even be that. It could be something else entirely. I don't know.

[ She shrugs her shoulders. ]

That, I guess, is what I mean. Best that I can explain it, anyway. If I even did. I'm not as good with words as you are.

[ As he listens, he nurses his glass of wine, although the taste is suddenly more bitter than the last time he had it. Is he really that easy to read?

...Of course he is, which is exactly why he isn't suited for these sorts of diplomatic missions or too keen on being anywhere near the throne. Of course he isn't terrible at lying or fabricating a cover-- it's what he did for Lora having Jin as a Blade, anyway, without batting an eye. But he is certain that even if he gave her his best effort to conceal all that he had to hide, she would still unmask him just as easily as she can tell how much power a Blade is using by a mere glance.

"Like maybe you’re wishing you could have been there to fix a few of my problems so Jin and Haze and I wouldn’t have had to be so careful."

She's guessed it exactly right. He lets out a breath through his nose, smile wry... but when he look at her from the corner of his eye the fondness has returned.

With his free hand, he brings it up to run it through his hair. ] You are... truly remarkable, Lora. [ His gaze returns to his glass then, noting how the lights of the city sprawl below dance through the crystal. ] Has anyone told you that?

[ Remarkable? So is he. ]

At least once.

[ Is her light reply, said in a friendly, teasing sort of way. A tone normally reserved for people she feels comfortable with. And it’s easy to feel at ease in his company. An hour out here with him would pass her by faster than ten minutes inside among strangers with all the diversions the gala could give her at her disposal. Her world’s going to be much quieter once this little journey of theirs is over. And she’ll miss it. ]

You’d better stop that though. [ She says, with a fond smile that matches her eyes, gesturing to his hand. ] You’re going to mess up your hair.

[ Not like the dry wind wasn’t enough of a threat. ]

[ Addam is having very similar thoughts to hers as she replies. And whether others have or had not called her remarkable, he truly believes he should. Giving her the title of a Tornan Driver is very short of the rewards she should have by now for all of her bravery and service to the Titan. It's rare to meet someone else who truly cares about the world in which they live, and he's fortunate enough to find quite of few of that kind of people on his journey, her included. So he cannot help but look upon her fondly, feeling that their spirits are kindred in that regard. It's quite amazing how she's passed those sentiments onto her two Blades, whereas he struggles to do the same with Mythra. Yes, the Aegis is making progress to have a little more humanity to her, but he's starting to suspect that it is less of his doing and more of Lora's influence as well.

Funny, how that works. Again, he wonders how it might have been should she have been born of a higher standing and been given the Aegis instead. She's done wonderful work with Jin of all Blades; perhaps she could have tempered Mythra's power better than his own attempts...

But his expression changes immediately once she mentions him messing up his hair, his fond smile contorting into a cringing frown. ] Bah, [ He clicks his tongue, looking worried for an entirely different reason now as he tries to rectify his mistake. It should be laughable how he may not bat an eye at one of Malos's artifices towering over him (or seemingly not bat an eye), but at the thought of his attendant fussing over his hair once more? That's scary. ]

How about this? Better?

[ Nope he's making it worse. ]

[ Addam, no.

She’d like to say he’s not making it worse. It's certainly looking a little more... him. And she likes the way his hair usually is. A bit on the untamed side. It suits him. But he’s slowly undoing the work one of his attendants had no doubt done for him. And there’s a sympathetic (if amused) look to her eyes as she watches him try. ]

I… don’t think that’s the look your attendant was going for.

[ She leaves her wineglass sitting on the balcony railing, closing what little distance there is between them. ]

Now don’t you dare move. [ Her tone is a lighthearted one, but defaulting out of sheer habit to the same one she uses with Jin when she has to tell him not to move. She doesn’t have a comb, but she thinks she can manage well enough. He’s still taller than her, but not prohibitively so, at least. She can still reach where she needs to. After a moment of thought, she places one of her hands under his chin to steady it and keep him straight so she can make sure everything looks even, before using her other hand to reach up and subdue the strands of hair he had pulled out of place. Once she’s done, she steps back. ]

That’s better.

[ It’s not perfect, but it will do. Until the wind gets to it again. Or Addam does. ]

Now leave it alone, or I doubt you'll last the night.

[ Addam stoops for her as she reaches up toward him, dipping his head towards her when her hand finds its place beneath his chin. Indeed he does hold still just as she tells him to, but it’s not just for the reason that she’s expertly fixing his hair...

Unlike their Blades who remain perfect as the day they had been awakened, unmarred by the elements, it’s a wonder what a good bath and a comb can do for their human counterparts after traveling in the Tornan wilds for so long. His words from before that she’s lovely come to mind. But up close to her like this, skin softened by the glow of the gala and the lights of the city beyond, she doesn’t look only that. She looks... beautiful. ]

...Ah, thank you. [ The response is delayed when she pulls away, but perhaps not as much as she would think.

Somehow his own hand has made its way to her, to the side of her face to also correct a wind-swept curl that has come loose, the deep red surprisingly soft against his fingers. His touch lingers more than it should as he finds a pin to tuck it behind, his gaze thoughtful and distant. ]

There. [ He says, smile softer, reclaiming some of the playful, charismatic tone from before. ] Now we’ll both escape the ire of our dressers.

[ Lora’s eyes widen when she feels the touch of his hand move to the side of her face.

It takes her a moment to realize just what he’s doing, longer than it probably should, but when she does, she smiles and keeps still, allowing him to tuck away the strand of hair that had somehow escaped her notice unhindered. And once he withdraws, her hand reaches up to touch the pin absently, almost able to detect the ghost of heat where his hand had been, though she’s careful to not to do anything to disturb the hair he had put back into place. She might not be afraid of drawing the attention of one of the attendants who had seen to her—they might very well be willing to forgive a single strand of hair being out of place, an allowable margin of error—but she would not want to waste the time and effort they had put into making sure someone as inexperienced to this world as her looked like she fit in. If only for the night. Tomorrow, they can all be themselves again, and the dry air won’t be able to so much as threaten them.

She takes a step back, though her eyes never quite leave him. No. He’s wearing that look again. Except it’s in his eyes instead of his voice. Distant. And now she’s left guessing again. ]

Now if only I could read your mind. [ She says, though her tone is far from serious, almost as playful as his is starting to be. It's more… curious, than anything, if perhaps equally thoughtful. She can only imagine, sometimes, what might be going on in his head. Surely far more than what little she can see. She’s never quite noticed how gold his eyes are. Just a little lighter than her own. Were his just a shade different, it’d almost be like looking into a mirror. ] You’ll have to tell me what that look of yours means sometime.

[ Her own mind is a mystery to him, although he can at least guess that she is thinking over something like a puzzle. The crease in her brow, the way a corner of her lips lifts... it is her usual thoughtful expression. And he likes it, he likes the way she looks when her mind is working, likes the familiarity behind it, knowing that whatever she draws from the pieces running through the forefront of her thoughts are going to be a reasonable conclusion. Yet here she’s simply stating that he (rather, his expression) is the puzzle itself. He nearly wants to laugh in response, to tell her that it is she that is the baffling one, but he doesn’t. The more he looks at her, the more his gaze wanders from her own golden eyes to her lips.

Perhaps it is the mood. Perhaps it is how close they are. Perhaps it is the venue, the atmosphere, the gala, or just even the wine. But in this case he feels as if he must be clear. If only because he wants her to see her reaction to what he will say, because he wants her to know his thoughts in this moment, because she deserves to know what he is to tell her. ]

Well, if you must know... [ His voice initially begins with that same playful tone, but then it slowly drops. Gently, his hand falls from her face, and it reaches down to bring her hand into his, lifting it up between them. ]

I was just thinking... [ His smile would almost be coy, if not for how sincere he sounds. Because Addam is nothing if not honest, always telling anyone how he feels. ] ...that you are rather beautiful, Lora.

[ Mythra had once warned her that if Lora thought his so-called princely behavior was bad, then she should stick around. Lora will be experiencing more of said behavior right now:

As soon as he’s done speaking just like the prince he is, he takes her hand up towards his face, and with his eyes still upon her he presses his lips to the back of her hand. Chivalrous, tender, and again: lingering. ]

[ Mythra had warned her. And she had taken the warning under some form of consideration. And now Mythra will have proven herself to be quite on the mark for once. ]

That’s what was on your mind? Out of everything you could be thinking about?

[ Surely there were more important things.

She stares back at him, head tilting to the side in a way that suggests that whatever she might have guessed, had he left her to wonder, it would never have been that. Even though he’s hardly the first man to have said as much as much to her within the past few hours—with many adding the same high-born, charismatic flourish when they had taken her hand—she feels a slight heat creep out from underneath her skin, though it’s quick to cool and vanish. Unlike the others, she at least knows his words come from a place of sincerity, instead of out of courtesy or protocol or mere flattery. And that makes it all the stranger, in a way. Especially when his touch lingers longer than she’s grown tonight to expect. And, for once, she’s not sure how she should read it. ]

Quite the charmer tonight, aren’t you? [ Her tone starts as equally playful as his. Though to be fair, he’s always been charismatic. But life is different when you’re on the road. And in the end, she decides to smile, one that’s different from the last. Softer. And her voice soon changes itself to match. ] Thank you, though. [ And she finds herself gripping his hand gently for a moment, before finally pulling away. ] I’m glad you think so.

[ And, after a moment of reflection, she finds that she very much means it, making it more than just a simple throwaway sentiment said out of politeness. She cares what he thinks of her, unlike she does of so many others here who she might only vaguely come to remember months from now, just as they will be quick to forget her once the night is through. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Style'd on 'em in this Burberry trench

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject