(no subject)

[mostheavenly]

It 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.

Comments

[haillenarte]

[francel returns that same faint smile, helping himself to a serving of heavenseggs, a slice of toast.]

Your duty to your country is nonpareil, Aymeric. But few would begrudge you the occasional late morning, given that Ishgard is no longer at siege. Does not First Commander Lucia exhort you often to rest? You might listen to her words...

[inwardly, he is cursing himself for having put himself in this position. it is impossible not to notice how — how good aymeric looks, though he has no right to be, given the early hour! the lord commander's tousled bedhead merely seems wind-swept, and he fills out that dressing-gown well; by no means is it immodest, but his broad chest makes more skin peek out above his neckline than francel ought to be contemplating as an innocent houseguest.

for shame, he scolds himself inwardly. you are here as his guest; you promised to be his friend! and now here you are, looking at him with your common lusts and your carnal worship —

he tries to recollect his thoughts.his own borrowed nightgown fits well, if somewhat loosely at the shoulders; he pulls it more tightly across his chest in a slightly girlish attempt to stop himself from being so flustered, though it remains loose at the nape of his neck, almost like a hingan kimono.]

You do look... soft. You wear it well. 'Twould not be a crime to become better-acquainted with leisure on occasion.

[mostheavenly]

"Believe me, on my rare days where there is nowhere to be, I can easily sleep through lunch," it's hard to imagine. Or perhaps it's all too easy to imagine, right now, Aymeric curled up in quilts and pillows, sleeping through the sunlight slanting across his bed. "I do manage a break every now and then," he considers for a moment, "Ah... though mostly only when Lucia makes me, now that I think on it."

Seeing any expressions at all on Aymeric's face is something of a rarity, but Francel has the twin knowledge now that it is partially simply that his expressions themselves are quiet to go with the rest of him and partially a matter of controlling himself in public, as he doesn't seem to feel the need to, currently. The change is still mild, but the way Aymeric's eyes widen and his cheeks heat when Francel says he looks soft is definitely not a public sort of expression. He looks aside a moment later,

"I... ah... I suppose I should at that," it's very clear he's a bit flustered himself by the compliment, "I have had so precious little of it in my life, I worry I would not know what to do with myself."

[haillenarte]

[ Francel stares. He doesn't mean to stare, of course, and he hopes very much that he does not look as though he is gawping — but it's impossible not to be charmed by the slightly bashful expression Aymeric is wearing. The gentle touch of color to his face, as if some aesthetician's brush has taken the barest hint of powder to his handsome cheeks.

He has a sudden and somewhat violent urge to find out where this ends. Namely, this cannot be the Lord Speaker's first time being complimented in such a manner, so why is he reacting like this? What happens if Francel pushes still further? Is this a normal reaction for the Lord Speaker, or is something else afoot?

It can't possibly be that there's anything special about Francel in particular. Francel doesn't believe that. He believes, very strongly, that he is not particularly special in any way. ]

...Well, what do you like to do when you are not working toward the betterment of Ishgard?

[ Faintly, he perceives that one likely answer to that question is that Aymeric leaves himself little time for other pursuits; he blocks off that route with all the deft insight of a strategician. ]

Surely there must be something. Do you like to read novels, perchance? Listen to the music of an orchestrion? Play an instrument?

[mostheavenly]

In many ways, there is truthfully nothing at all special about Francel, at least in regards to where or how he fits into Aymeric's orbit. Perhaps, if there is anything, it is that there is something trustworthy about him, though whether that has spawned from some internal quality of Francel himself or just that his grief has left him vulnerable enough that Aymeric doesn't believe he has ulterior motives is anyone's guess. Regardless, what Francel is, is earnest, one of the first people who has ever sought Aymeric out for friendship that hasn't seemed motivated by political gain, but rather as a desire to get to know the man himself better.

Aymeric doesn't fully trust it yet, knows that it could all be a lie to get in his good graces, a different version of the fluttering, flirting women or the men and their false smiles. But he wants to believe it's genuine and so he is cautiously genuine in response.

It doesn't take Francel being special. It just takes Francel being real and there.

He considers the question for a moment, not overly long but long enough for it to be clear there's some real thought there,

"I do occasionally read or listen to music. But I usually just enjoy..." he seems to struggle for a word, "being, I suppose," he can't help but shrug slightly, give a little, helpless sort of laugh, "I know it sounds as dull as one might expect for a man who spends every waking hour in the fight for Ishgard's peace, whatever form that takes. I believe I'm rumored to have no hobbies or preferences at all. But... truly," if he looked soft before, he really seems to double down on it now, though he doesn't seem particularly aware of it, "I spend so much of my days in industry. I often find that, when I have a spare moment, it is an absolute delight to simply sit still for a time, to have a cup of tea and watch the snow fall outside or the people pass, and do nothing at all."