Viola & Lachlan | Town Circle | Midmorning
Lachlan’s gaze lingered on the doctor’s face for just a moment but dropped away when her cheeks flushed a rosy pink not unlike that of the flowers in the hair of girl skipping by. Nerves were understandable, he supposed, given that an Aurellian Turning festival was as clear a departure from Clovennian culture as she could hope to get. “Better to go forward whilst feeling nervous than run away scared,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. Belmont would certainly not be showing his face in the village on this day, but then again, no one held a personal grudge against the doctor as far as Lachlan was aware.
When she spoke of scandalised sensibilities, Lachlan couldn’t fight back the sniff of distaste, as if he had scented something truly unpleasant in an air redolent with Canwyn flowers. “Being scandalised over something like that seems like wasted energy to me.” He could have gone on in that vein at length. But knowing the audience was important, and it was better to stop there when it looked as if he were only annoyed on her behalf, rather than being annoyed at the Clovennian culture as a whole.
Lachlan shrugged ever so slightly when his mention of the vines was called to attention. “They are the center point of my working days. It is habit as much as passion that keeps them on my mind, I cannot help but compare what I can do to the works of other people. I know our wines are better, but the cider is still worth enjoying.” As if to emphasise his point, Lachlan took a deliberate sip of his cider, and then another as if finding the first to be agreeable enough.