lille aleyne, piece on the side. (rending) wrote in emillion,
Lille's face was pink and white by turns—a pale sheen of embarrassed relief when Aspel and Kiernan materialized at either side, her trembling mouth offering up something like a smile, maybe, as she took the cloth the dab half-heartedly at her tunic; and then blood coloring her cheeks and her throat and her ears as they drew nearer to the table and she saw exactly who was seated there. Audrey waved them closer and Ari leaned forward to speak, and Lille's eyes darted so sharply and severely towards the ceiling just in case that everyone at the table had no choice but to take note of her discomfort. Could this evening be going any worse?
She ignored the redness in her face and the fact that her clothes were practically sticking to her, and slid onto the bench between Aspel and Kiernan. Mead came and then ale, and she buried her face in her mug until the heat in her throat had subsided and the bothersome wetness of her tunic was just a little less bothersome. A happy buzz of vague intoxication settled on her. She lifted her head abruptly and nearly knocked over another mug of ale, but caught herself just in time. "Oh!" she said brightly, "I have an idea—I think we have enough at the table. Have any of you ever played Gils? The drinking game?" She shuffled around in the purse at her waist, pulling out a single gil piece and laying it on the table.