Rictor/Open.
This time, he caught the message in time for the free food. The circumstances, however—
The announcement of the names made his stomach clench and run cold, driving an uncomfortable little twist in his gut. Councillor. Not that it was a position he'd been angling for, not that he'd ever submitted his name for consideration, he was much younger, obviously, it all made sense, it was perfectly rational and sensible. He was one of the Silver Blades. He need not be a member of the council, or even strive to be. Rictor Cassul answered to a separate line of command and a higher power indeed. Faram cared not about these appointments and the politicking inside the Fighters Guild.
But still, a slight bitterness rose in the back of his throat like bile. He drove it out by immediately seizing on meat from the passing trays, piling his own little plate high with delicately-prepared snacks. It was a mission, Ric thought, bemused.
He'd spotted Aspel across the room several times, dressed to the nines in a way he hadn't seen for years apart from the auction. It was strange. Uncanny. But he avoided drifting towards her, instead prowling the party like a wolf on the outskirts of the pack, taking in the familiar and unfamiliar faces gathered to chatter praise for his sister and one of his best friends. It was not wrong. He was pleased for them, surely.
Surely.
It did not, however, change the fact that Rictor still avoided them, and instead found opportunity to speak to anyone but Drake Liu or Aspel Cassul. He had to pay his respects at Bahamut Hall, after all, since he was perfectly available for the occasion — but that didn't mean he had to gush. He could show his face, inhale some food, say hello to a few people, then leave.