sir rictor cassul, korporal. (templars) wrote in emillion, |
Closest friend, hm? He made a mental note of that, even through the haze of alcohol. She was matching him step for step so far and it was like a delicate balance, each of them slowly extracting information from each other and taking turns asking the questions. It was friendly, truly – she’d held her own at the caves and now seemed fully capable of holding her liquor too – but it didn’t change the fact that they both had a mission here. “Not that long, relatively,” Ric admitted, pouring out another pair of shots for the both of them. This one he nursed, taking a moment to savour their conversation before they tipped themselves right over into the next round. “Two years and a bit. Was at the Fighters Guild in Kerwon before this, but moved to Emillion when I joined the Blades. I live at the Cathedral, with the rest of the brothers. Try to stop by the guildhalls most chances I can, though, whenever I’m stationed in city rather than traveling.” There was the slippery urge to add something about Seloria and her attempts to wrangle all the siblings into one home together, but he immediately bit the thought back, reeling it in like a fishing line. Cassul family business wasn’t to be aired. No matter how free his tongue became, thanks to this foully bitter chemical concoction sitting between them. * Mag couldn't be sure how or when it had happened, but what had started as sharing a bottle of liquor to celebrate Rictor's birthday had turned into a competition. Their conversation continued, but now she found herself not only listening to Rictor's words but also watching for any signs that he may be about to topple over. This wasn't the way she'd expected their conversation to go; she'd been bracing for awkwardness, but now she found she was having fun. They knocked back their next shots. Mag listened to Rictor talk about his job. It seemed as though he was about to add something else, but as he did not, she said, "You travel often because of work?" Then, out of curiosity, "What weapon do you use, by the way?" Whenever she met another fighter, this was the one question she could never resist asking. She picked up the bottle and poured their next shots. With a knowing grin, she said, "Your turn to ask a question next, I'd say." * What’s your weapon? was the fighter’s platonic equivalent of What’s your sign? and Rictor couldn’t help but laugh. Suddenly, their exchange had taken on aspects of the surreal and started to seem incredibly funny. Because the jig was up, wasn’t it? They were both finally calling the friendly interrogation for what it was. That was good. That was a relief. It was honest. “Let’s see. I travel a lot, yeah, all over Valendia. Ordalia and Kerwon sometimes too. It doesn’t leave much time for sticking around here in the city – maybe that’s why I never noticed how fucking insanely dangerous it is back here – but there it is. I’m finally staying put for the foreseeable future, though, they promised I can be stationary with shorter missions for now. I fight with a gunblade and I’m a Leo.” He counted off the bits of trivia, the more banal the better. “My favourite colour’s white. One of my favourite plays is The People’s Hero. What do you fight with, and what’s your favourite memory of Aspel?” That last one was a gamble. But he went for it regardless, buoyed by whatever the hell this was in his veins. A very distant part of him looked in on the scene and thought: I can see why this is her best friend. |