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Jun. 28th, 2020 11:23 pmIt is, as such things go, an exceedingly boring party.
Republic though Ishgard may now be, the High Houses are still technically nobility and still afforded all the pomp and circumstance that entails, so when one of the more notable eligible ladies of House Dzemael gets married, it's the social event of the year and, of course, anyone who's anyone would be directly snubbing the house and all who live there to refuse to come. Even if that were not the case, certainly it would be foolish to miss it, considering how many deals are likely to be struck in side conversations, plans made out of the seat of government that will be carried into it in the coming days.
Aymeric feels like he's going to go hoarse if he has to talk much more than he already has and the combination of all of the politician nobles who want to speak with him and all of the unmarried ones who want to dance with him has him frankly looking for an escape route with a near desperate fervor despite the placid, attentive disposition he gives both categories. A slightly stumbling Francel de Haillenarte isn't the best of excuses, but any port in a storm.
"Excuse me, my lords," he ducks out of the conversation, dodges three requests to dance and makes it to Francel's side just in time to catch his elbow with a steadying hand before he can run into a server with a drink tray.
"Ah, just who I was looking for," he turns the young noble easily out towards the back gardens and starts to lead him away, "I have a few questions about the restoration project I've not been able to quite catch up with you to ask." It's an absolute lie, but it keeps the circling social coeurls away, hopefully for long enough to get them both outside, if the young man will cooperate.
Republic though Ishgard may now be, the High Houses are still technically nobility and still afforded all the pomp and circumstance that entails, so when one of the more notable eligible ladies of House Dzemael gets married, it's the social event of the year and, of course, anyone who's anyone would be directly snubbing the house and all who live there to refuse to come. Even if that were not the case, certainly it would be foolish to miss it, considering how many deals are likely to be struck in side conversations, plans made out of the seat of government that will be carried into it in the coming days.
Aymeric feels like he's going to go hoarse if he has to talk much more than he already has and the combination of all of the politician nobles who want to speak with him and all of the unmarried ones who want to dance with him has him frankly looking for an escape route with a near desperate fervor despite the placid, attentive disposition he gives both categories. A slightly stumbling Francel de Haillenarte isn't the best of excuses, but any port in a storm.
"Excuse me, my lords," he ducks out of the conversation, dodges three requests to dance and makes it to Francel's side just in time to catch his elbow with a steadying hand before he can run into a server with a drink tray.
"Ah, just who I was looking for," he turns the young noble easily out towards the back gardens and starts to lead him away, "I have a few questions about the restoration project I've not been able to quite catch up with you to ask." It's an absolute lie, but it keeps the circling social coeurls away, hopefully for long enough to get them both outside, if the young man will cooperate.
