mathieu trinket. (flauto) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-02-24 14:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, arielle chiaro, mathieu rozenkatz |
Emotion, devotion, to causing a commotion...
Who: Mathieu Rozenkatz & Arielle Chiaro.
What: Bardic revelry.
Where: A tavern in the Theatre District.
When: Recently.
Rating: Tame; drinking.
Status: Complete!
The cause for the evening’s celebration had been something debated upon by the hour, and no two members of the guild would offer the same argument. Nevertheless, word had gotten out early about Lord Rozenkatz’s commandeering this particular tavern (a cozy establishment nestled right in the heart of the Theatre District) and his army of revelers filled the room and crept out into the streets in a cluttered queue, singing and hollering their excitement for simply being alive. The councilman himself was easy enough to spot, buying drinks for most anyone who had come up to greet him and making certain to make the proper rounds. Mathieu was weaving his way cheerfully through the crowds, bottle in hand, when he spotted another familiar bard in need of proper greeting. Drinks sloshing in his path, he carefully bounded over to land at Ari’s side. “Fancy spying you here, my dear, care for another virgin beverage?” He smiled his usual cat-like grin. “On me, of course!” “Of course,” she teased. “Why in the world would I pay for my own sad excuse for a drink when you’re here to do it for me?” The cause for the celebration was unknown to her, but that was all right. She’d seen the lights and heard the merriment on her way home from a late rehearsal and had stopped in with a thought towards distraction (she might have, in other circumstances, gone to check on Aspel, but frankly, perhaps she was better off leaving that whole mess be for awhile). Fortunately, as always, the motley crew that made up the Bards’ Guild never failed to deliver. “Another Golden Chocobo, then; they are remarkably good virgin, in fact.” Someone would be along soon to take the order, she was sure; for the moment, Ari turned back to her friendly guildmate, an amused smile on her face. “Is tonight your response to that mage -- wasn’t it? -- who claimed the superiority of his own guild by offering sweets to its members? I must say, I approve.” “Thy will be done, and one Golden Chocobo it is!” Mathieu raised his arm like a general in the midst of his own great army, summoning the nearest available member of the local waitstaff (bobbing through the uneven tides of the crowd like a valiant buoy toward him, a full tray lifted from one hand) and ordering Ari’s drink of choice. Once that simple act of generosity had been finished, he grabbed the nearest available stool and propped himself in front of her--attention apparently avid, or at least for the moment. “Oh, far be it for humble me to compete with the city’s illustrious mages,” he demured, looking obviously mischievous. “But ever is my task to make sure my guild is well cared for.” As to prove this claim, Mathieu gave his fellow bard a mock-serious once over, taking in her current state and measuring against some unknown standard. “And that includes yourself, as always. Any particularly good reasons to celebrate with us tonight, Miss Chiaro?” “Does one need a reason to celebrate life?” she asked. “It is such a lovely thing, after all, surely worth this bit of joy. But in case that answer isn’t enough, let’s see…” She made a show of pensiveness, tapping her finger against her lips, before proclaiming: “We got through the act two blocking this afternoon without anyone tripping over the set pieces -- a miracle, I tell you -- and it will soon be warm enough to wear my very favorite pair of boots. How are those for reasons to celebrate? The latter in particular, of course. I’d like to see you top the undiluted joy that comes from a favorite pair of really fabulous boots.” “A worthy enough cause if ever there was,” he agreed blithely, spotting a besieged waiter as he squirmed his way from the crowds. Drink presented and gil exchanged, Mathieu took up the glass and handed it to Ari--another generous deed done for the day. And while the Councilor couldn’t be anchored in any particular spot, he contented to wade himself nearby for a moment or two, relishing the presence of those he had been charged to look after. “Everyone is sharing their stories tonight about that battle outside the city,” Mathieu said, turning topics. “It’s something worth celebrating too, wouldn’t you say? Another victory, another crisis averted.” For a brief moment, Ari’s expression darkened. Her own feelings about that particular event were complicated to say the very least; though the walls had indeed not been breached, she could find little to celebrate in the outcome. She took a sip of her drink, and by the time the glass had left her lips, the expression had been willed away, smoothed out; once more she was a smiling carefree reveler. Some things were not open for discussion with friendly acquaintances, especially in such surroundings. “It seems that everyone here weathered the attack well,” she said. “A cause for celebration indeed. Are there any good ones? Stories, that is.” Faram’s gentle mercy but he had seen that brief but dark expression etch itself across his guildmate’s features. Mathieu shifted in his seat, doing his best not to make any sudden movements that might, somehow, summon up such sour and mysterious feelings again. Completely opposite of his purpose there that night, in fact, and the man put on his most-gleaming and brilliant of smiles, content to war his way toward something like a cheerful victory instead. “Oh, tales so tall that they put lesser bards to shame,” he said, his eyes catching those of another waiter, and with a few movements a drink appeared in Mathieu’s hand as well. Now, he thought, they were nearly matching. “In fact, some of our friends over there have weaved a story so outrageous that it can only be properly told from their own mouths.” With a nod of his head in the right direction, Mathieu indicated a number of their compatriots who had set up camp nearest the stage, standing on tables and chairs and trying their best to gather as big a crowd for their performance as they could. “What do you say, hmm?” “I say aye, councilor. A story that you cannot tell? I must see it to believe it.” She looped her arm through his, smiling. The Bards’ Guild was the best organization in Ivalice for distraction, bless them. “Lead the way,” she told him, prepared to follow and be swallowed up by a story too engrossing to leave room for dark thoughts. “But of course!” Mathieu smiled, taking his companion by the arm and leading Ari down a winding path through the cheerful crowds (and only spilling a tiny bit of his drink with the effort). By the time the two edged close enough to properly listen, two bards had pulled their tables together, standing atop to afford their audience a perfect view of the mighty battle they were in the midst of reenacting. A great roar of excitement surged through the audience, and in three less-than-deft movements of their drunken comrades, both “hero” and “monster” went tumbling into crowds. This was, Mathieu and Ari would eventually learn, only the beginning of Act One. |