sir rictor cassul, korporal. (templars) wrote in emillion, |
After enough time had passed, he’d started to lose track of the new arrivals – the faces blurred into one another, after all, and prying himself loose from one absorbing conversation in order to pounce on another guest wandering in off the street was hard, if not impossible. Rictor would catch glimpses of friends and occasionally manage to say hello, but mostly he left them to fend for themselves. Most of the people he knew were gregarious fighters; they could certainly handle themselves in a social situation without hand-holding. And the other swaggering holy knights of the Silver Blades would relish an opportunity to chat up Bella’s friends without interference. So fuck it. But when he caught sight of Aspel with a redhead in tow, however, that was another matter entirely. A few minutes later, they’d somehow ended up at the same table together while his sister excused herself to say hello to Drake. Rictor squinted at the older woman across from him, until the gears turned and clicked and realisation – and recognition – dawned. “Hey, I’ve seen you before,” he said, snapping his fingers. “At the caves. You were riding the hoverbike with Lliryn. And then you were in the car with us afterwards, with Aspel. She brought you here?” * How she had ended up sharing a table with Aspel's brother, Mag had no idea, but neither was she about to complain. Since Aspel had told her Rictor and Seloria were in Emillion, Mag had been trying to find an excuse to talk to them and get a feel for what they were like. She'd met Rictor a little over a week ago, but the undead (and later, Aspel's injuries) had been a much more pressing concern at the time. So when Aspel had asked if she wanted to tag along with her this evening, Mag had said yes at once. If this celebration wasn't the perfect excuse to approach Rictor, she didn't know what was, though she hadn't expected her luck to be quite this good. Rictor recognised her, it seemed. "Good memory. Yes, that was me." She smiled and held out her hand. "Magnolia Paget. But everyone calls me Mag." Except Vivi, who refused to use the shortened version of her name, no matter how many times Mag asked her. "And you're Rictor. Happy birthday, by the way." She raised her glass of cider as if making a toast. "I didn't bring you a present, sorry. But I'll buy your next drink." She hardly knew him; surely he would appreciate a free drink rather than any present she could have thought of. She nodded at the dozens of people crowding the bar and teased, "I've never seen Puzzles this full. The owner may yet write you a love song for this." * He accepted her offered hand and swallowed it with one of his own and a crushing handshake. That old curiosity was rearing its ugly head once more – any friend of Aspel’s was an automatic object of fascination, a curio to be examined and assessed. Perhaps by approaching the people who knew her, he’d be able to construct a better image of the woman herself and bridge the gap somewhat. “Thanks. It’s appreciated. And I also can’t take all the credit for filling the place.” Rictor grinned, nodding his head towards Arabella on the other side of the room. “Combined event. Bella’s got quite the assortment of tavern-happy friends as well. Add the both of our extended social circles, then you get a full bar.” |