braymitch thornathy. (grever) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-06-09 20:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, bram thornton, esther glass, mathieu rozenkatz |
as long as we're playing the song, you might as well sing along.
Who: Esther Glass, Bram Thornton, and Mathieu Rozenkatz.
What: High-society tensions regarding the mages guild.
Where: A party at the Delacroix (NPC) noble residence.
When: Recently, sometime after this.
Rating: PG-ish
Status: Complete
That a good part of the aristocracy could still host comfortable gatherings like this spoke volumes; the class differences had been there all her life but they caused a twinge of pity for those with less in moments like this. Not to mention the general attitude towards the Mages, which Esther had been queried about several times throughout the evening. What could she say that was diplomatic yet firm? She was still part of the guild, her own reservations voiced only in private to those she trusted. After food had been served and the guests all ushered into a comfortable hall where coffee and sweets were being served, Esther took a small breather (a quick glance for her fiance who was not in sight). She craned her neck, rising on tip toes to see if she spotted him but instead attracted the attention of their host who lifted his cup of coffee and flashed a smile that Esther couldn’t quite match. Lord Delacroix had already cornered her twice in the evening, pressing the point about the Mages Guild and looking expectantly for answers Esther did not know. If she stayed here, no doubt he would come press again for information, for promises, for politics that Esther was not sure how to handle. (She was young, she would learn.) She turned away with a polite nod and clung to the first person available. Much to her misfortune, however, it was Bram Thornton, looking as straightlaced and uncomfortable as ever in this sort of gathering. He was a relatively familiar face at these social functions, putting in his time like a grim factory worker clocking the hours. It was an expected lip service to the upper classes, appearing here as one of the oldest councilmen. The fellow councilor by his side was dealing with it much better, however, Mathieu gracefully navigating the turmoiled waters of this party while the dragoon floundered, drowning slightly, trying to follow all the conversations without blurting out something blunt and savage. “Lady Glass,” Bram said by way of greeting, raising his own cup of (spiked) coffee. A mage, a bard, and a fighter walk into a dinner party, he thought. It was like the setup to a joke. A particularly bad one. “And how are you enjoying the evening?” Mathieu chimed in, hovering cheerily at the elder councilman’s side and picking up the conversation dutifully wherever it sought to limp. He had soldiered through the entire event with his usual array of weaponry, those tools of war designed for this specific field of battle. The two struck a great contrast, as Mathieu in his fine Lord’s robes and silks seemed entirely at ease here, seeming to blend in with the rest of the nobility without issue. His smile became more genuine, however, when the two had spotted Esther (lingering by herself, in need of a quick rescue--one that he was only happy to oblige). He sipped his own cup of coffee with a hint of pleasant mischief. “Much easier than the Detective Inspector, I hope!” “My esteemed lords, you’re both looking well.” Esther did a quick courtesy before looking up; Mathieu was always a welcome sight, her smile growing to match his own as she turned from Bram to him. The nuances were detectable to those with keen eyes, how she held Bram in a respectful position, while leaning closer and resting her hand on Mathieu’s arm (always drawn to touch him when nearby, the concept of personal boundaries becoming secondary in the moment). She resisted the urge of straightening Mathieu’s robes, despite the fact they were in pristine condition; her way of conveying her contentment at his company. “It has been a long evening.” Exhausting in fact, but Esther was not one to complain — she was not battle ready like Mathieu, or as adept as weathering this like Bram. However, the expectations and atmosphere were familiar enough; having to navigate these territories on her own a little more. It would not be surprising if her fiance had purposely left her to fend on her own and learn a lesson. “Much talk of politics and questions that have no clear answers.” Her fingers tightened their hold on Mathieu briefly. Thoughts on said topics had been shared in private between them, but admittedly Esther was curious to see more where the Fighters’ Guild stood beyond public actions. With Bram here it was a good opportunity to cautiously breach the topic. “Isn’t that always the way,” Bram said grimly. The three of them had drifted into a safe space at the side of the room, distancing themselves from the other eddies of socialites and nobles. “Encountering any uncomfortable questions tonight? Must admit, it’s a bit of a relief having the lens on another guild for once, not eyeing all our foibles.” His hand tightened on the mug. If there had been another backlash to the Fighters Council—on top of everything else—he might have reached the end of his rope (though it still seemed to be creeping closer and closer, even so). Mathieu had positioned himself as something of a first line of defense in their newly-designated nook of the room, glancing over his shoulder every so often as to take note of the rest of the guests. He smiled over his cup of coffee as Bram spoke, continuing to look cheerful regardless of the topic at hand. Relief—the word tugged at his innermost thoughts. He glanced back at the two of his companions and wondered: did he ever feel so similarly regarding the Mages Guild current position, as a councilor if not as simply himself? “We always find our own share of curious questions, don’t we?” A delicate way to phrase it if ever there was, for who didn’t want to pick the brains of the other councils, to learn some secrets as to their own reactions? The rumor mill of Emillion was relentless, even during times as these. “But nothing too forward and unpleasant here, of all places.” Esther found herself smiling at the two councillors, intrigued by their thoughts and perceptions (limited as she was by her lack of participation in the leadership of the Mages guild- something, perhaps, to fix in future). “A little bit of discouraging commentary about my guild but nothing that is not warranted due to what happened.” Here it still felt like she was treading on quicksand, but Mathieu was there to guide her and keep her from sinking; that was a significant reassurance. “You two must find those questions far more often than I, but it is good that only one of the guilds is suffering after the attack. Were more of them to suffer, people would be left without guidance.” Without leadership to trust. And as if her words had suddenly summoned a flock of carrion crows, Lord Delacroix (and his wife, a pretty little thing in pink) reappeared once more, bearing down on the trio while carrying slices of fluffy white cake on small platters. “What an exquisite little gathering!” Delacroix declared, his voice deep and booming. “With both Rozenkatz and Thornton present, surely you must be discussing some matters of great import at my little party, hm?” “Suggestions on how to improve the security of the Mages Guild, perhaps? I’ve been proposing their having to take annual psychological exams, myself.” The woman’s teeth were sharp and glinting and pearly-white, the cake held in front of her chest like a shield. Bram felt something in the back of his head wither and writhe, instantly thinking of Toku and his task force, Peony standing strong against a wall of Darkra in a warehouse, hefting Merrion’s broken body himself towards the clinics. All of them heaving themselves into harm’s way to protect this city. “I hardly think—” he began forcefully, a muscle flickering in his cheek. But Mathieu, his senses tingling and catching what looked like an impending volcanic eruption, swept neatly in and rescued them. And so it was, as if a heroic peal of the trumpet had been sounded, that Mathieu bounced to the fore of this sudden engagement and took command. His mask of polite cheer did not falter in the face of such bold suggestions, and before Bram had time to counter (such instincts of these fighters!, he might have proclaimed elsewhere), the younger councilman had already begun to intercede. “Why thank you most kindly,” he said, looking upon the offered cake in a display of wonder and helping, at once, to relieve the Lady of her generous gifts. He stacked the delicate plates upon his arm as if he was a server at one of the nearest cafes, his deft hands working to distract as much as possible (one could always depend on the generous showmanship of the Bards Guild, after all). “A morsel for a morsel, if you’re curious to our conversation!” Mathieu leaned so the other two could partake in the offered cake, his eyes kept keenly on the hosts. “My dearest friend, Councilor Thornton, has yet to believe my flattering on the cut of his jacket, you see, and so I’ve been forced to seek aid with the lovely Lady Glass in this regard.” Chattering away about the heroic figures of the Fighters Guild, he provided his two companions a moment to regroup. A very helpful pause. Esther’s shoulders tensed, her body reacting physically as if this were a battle of another kind and her rod were within her grasp; she uncoiled from where she had been comfortably orbiting Mathieu’s side and turned to their hosts. The cake was taken out of merely politeness, resentment carefully tucked within the folds of her sleeves at the unwarranted interruption and spoken words, but Mathieu had set example and Esther would follow his lead into these fights. “It is a flattering cut, esteemed Councillor.” Esther added, her smile becoming pinched and forced as she forced herself to return to the topic that had allowed for no peace the entire night. “As it stands, should we not be focusing our efforts into the reconstruction of the city first? There are a lot of homeless in need of charity and aid—” “My dear Lady Glass, you have become a champion for the welfare of others recently.” Her teeth were more like fangs in Esther’s opinion; feeling the interruption cut into her like a knife, the condescending tone like salt on a wound. “The Glass family has always been a valuable part of the city,” Thornton said thinly. Whereas how much have you spent on this party? he wanted to ask, but didn’t. Mathieu had occasionally asked him in joking affront if he’d been raised by wolves, and the the man was set on proving that wrong tonight—he would navigate this den of horrible noble vipers, no matter how unpleasant the prospect. He had to. “If I’m at liberty to say,” the dragoon added, “I think a fundraiser’d be a good idea. I know several organisations in the city that are hurting for gil, particularly in terms of rebuilding.” Even the Knights of the Peace were still understaffed, barely keeping order together with the streets in extra shambles. “Such wonderful ideas,” Mathieu encouraged generously, as if he was playing as a conductor of moods, hand poised with his dessert fork and making gestures between the current parties as if to simply will everyone together peacefully. “Aside my own family, who are pledged to Faram and all noble and most-virtuous causes, I’m sure other esteemed guests tonight would love to contribute to such charity.” Cheerily he invested in his own cake, but his gaze danced across the assailing Lord and Lady with a great amount of interest. “Wouldn’t you agree?” Of course they agreed; faced with two councilors the host and his wife had no choice but to acquiesce or risk alienating powerful players in the battlefield of politics (in which no one was truly dead until exiled to the royal prison and even then). They had hastily trampled over for a petty snipe and had been met with unmovable resistance that hid itself beneath both a charmed smile and a severe countenance. “Most certainly, it is a great idea. Most noble and selfless — we shall have to set an example for our peers and those of less fortunate means.” Lord Delacroix tipped his head, mind already occupied with the hundred and one ways he could profit from this idea and for that moment it relinquished his desire to lay blame at the feet of the Mage Guild. It wouldn’t last long, but it was a welcome respite. Esther for her part was silent, but the look of utter gratefulness and admiration she bestowed on Bram and Mathieu was unmistakable. The two men stood around the girl, a solid and immovable wall by her side. The three of them kept their affable expressions on for the Delacroixes, and even Bram managed to muster up a chilly, bitter smile for the nobles across them. “Good,” the older man said, finishing the last of his coffee, curling the empty cup between his fingers. “Now. Think I’ll get some more of that great dessert. Rozenkatz, Glass?” An invitation extended, an escape route offered as he turned to leave, with the merest bow of the head to their hosts (a formality, not respect). Mathieu, by sharp contrast, heaped upon the couple a gracious amount of platitudes and sugary well-wishes before seeking to make his departure. He ushered his companions along through the rest of the engagement, a shield of well-crafted smiles and easy compliments at their backs (and his eyes gave no hint to the relief the bard felt as he noted that their generous hosts did not attempt to follow along). Another precarious battle fought and, perhaps, even won, but the war itself was far from over. |