September 10, 2013 Who: Aneirin Calmcacil & Sidonie de la Sidra What: Aneirin produces himself for the Queen's pleasure. AKA, Aneirin finally starts being a suitor. When: Evening; a few hours after his visit with the Chaldean. Where: Sidonie's private sitting room. Rating: Low? Status: Incomplete
After visiting with the mysterious enigma that is the Chaldean, Nye had retreated back to his rooms to prepare for the time to come. Much like an actor preparing to play a role, Nye set about preparing himself for the Queen. He would not present himself to her falsely, he was not that kind of man. However, he had to present himself in such a way as to draw the eye; her eye.
As such his simple leathers and tunic were discarded. In their place he donned black leathers as soft as butter, and exceedingly supple. They were a luxury he indulged in only for occasions such as this. He generally favored more sturdy leathers and cotton that could keep up with the abuse of an active military man. The knee high boots he pulled on were polished and offset the pants tucked into them nicely. To finish the look, he wore a black shirt with billowing sleeves and a tunic vest of the same black, but where everything else he wore was without design, the vest was intricately embroidered in an amber thread that perfectly matched the dark amber eyes he was born with.
The colors may have been an odd choice, more muted than compared to the bright and more rich colors others seemed to favor. The sword at his hip was functional, but it rested within a ceremonial sheath, mirrored by the dirk that rested upon the other, functional but made to look useless. With the help of his manservant his longish hair was slicked back, taming the loose curls that seemed determined to win out at every other moment of his life.
To look at Aneirin Calmcacil as he walked to this destination, one would not question his presence nor rank. He looked every inch the young lord he was. His posture and stride spoke of arrogance and confidence, his gaze dismissed without missing a single face or shifting shadow. In the public eye, dressed as he was, he took great pain to hide his injury, though if one looked closely to his left wing they would see it. But he did not favor, he suffered the pain as he had been taught to do. To show weakness in front of the Chaldean was different from this.
Arriving in the wing the Queen lived in, he went through the proper searching and vetting before being shown to the Queen's private sitting room. He had written her before, speaking to her, asking after her, subtly hinting toward his interest in seeking her hand. Nothing outright, of course. While she had to know what he was here for, it was something better confirmed face to face.
Entering, his eyes immediately found his Queen. He smiled and then proceeded to exact a perfect bow, ignoring the twinge of pain in his shoulder as the healing wound stretched unpleasantly. He could only hope he would be able to avoid aggravating the wound further. "My Queen, I thank you for agreeing to see me, especially so soon after such tragedy."