miles baines: riff-raff! street rat! (mimicks) wrote in emillion,
Ari/Miles/Open -- After dark
Miles Baines' return to Emillion had been a small and unannounced thing, simply slipping in on the afternoon stream of airships and skulking his way onto the docks, wet and bedraggled and exhausted and hungry. He was afire with the usual irritation that came from a few weeks of hard work, pounding the ground to get certain shipments back to the struggling city for certain thieves. But a hot shower and some scuttlebutt (Faram, he loved that term) brewing around the docks about a beachside holiday was enough to pique his curiosity and repair his mood.
So he'd sauntered over that afternoon, hands in pockets, content to drift along throughout the festivities, gauging the landscape and assessing the people now that he was back.
And he was still there when the sun set, pacing up and down the beach when the sound of a familiar song drew him to one of the bonfires. Miles approached and stood at the very edge, right where the light flickered and faded to dim twilight, his head tilted and listening. Even as he tried to only half-pay attention, the old habits twitched in response, watching and listening and evaluating the girl's performance. The alcohol made her looser and gave her voice a pleasant burr. Just like he remembered.
When she finished, the man clapped politely – for anyone else but Arielle Chiaro, it may have been sarcastic – and settled down on the sand beside her, dangling a flimsy cup of red wine to the performer with a small smirk.
"Terrible vintage and they're not selling glasses. Something about a hazard if they break. But at least it's wine." Hello again, Ari, he didn't say.