storm & ari | mid-evening
Storm could not help himself from peering curiously at orchestra. It was all rather lovely, brass and string blinking in the shifting candlelight. What little knowledge he had of these arts was tinged with Kapur disdain. Performance could be appreciated, but a Kapur would never condescend to be an entertainer. Kapurs were fighers, only fighters, and it was with that mantra running through his head that he brushed elbows with someone. Such things tended to happen in balls, but one never knew which oversensitive noblewoman he might offend.
So he turned to the woman with an apology at the ready. It melted in his mouth when he recognized to whom he was to speak. ArCh, or Ari, he was fairly certain—the bard who had performed in Fedoro and seemed to delight in baiting his sister. After a moment of silent surprise, Storm composed himself.