Filaurel paid relatively little attention to the commotion in the pavilion- faux pas were the realm of the great and good to judge and react to, and none of his concern. He applied himself instead to his meal, paying particular attention to the more extravagantly-prepared dishes. He'd never learned the art of cooking as a soldier, not more than any soldier had to, and other things had transpired to command his attention when he'd mustered out. He lived now off fruits, vegetables and less-perishable comestibles, which allowed him to remain holed up above his atelier without dedicating energy and attention to meal preparation.
But there were downsides to that lifestyle, he'd have to admit. The buffet here was delicious, with so many painstakingly savory examples of the Hytori culinary arts.
"Worth coming to these for the food alone," Filaurel remarked to his companion, though he did so only after he'd finished chewing and swallowing completely, "Even without the nice outfits. Perhaps this, too, is Suion's will." In truth, he'd guess the art owed more to Keela, but he'd been taught better manners than to slight a goddess at her own festival with a loose tongue.
Attention to the food meant that Filaurel did not even notice that the soldier who'd caused such a stir had advanced upon his position until he spoke. He looked up in surprise as Thimryl greeted Turuher, a fork still sticking out of the side of his mouth. He extricated the utensil delicately with telekinesis, letting it waft down to his plate as he finished the bite.
"Blessings of Ash upon you, Len'Lavian." Not a name he'd heard before, but that wasn't any sort of surprise. He'd only opened Gloaming Hapertas a few months ago, and through that had met only a handful of soldiers. For all he knew, the family was an institution in Sol'Valen, somehow.
"I am Filaurel Len'Alen, tailor and haberdasher in the city. You were among the racers, were you not? A fine showing, altogether." Filaurel put forth the effort to lift his hand with Kinetics, gesturing towards Turuher with a lazy wave. "I take it you have served alongside Len'Kouneli? I have been making certain specialized uniforms for his squadron, though he has valiantly resisted my blandishments to buy more expensive vestments for personal use."
The tailor raised a glass to Turuher in a mock toast, smiling wanly. He had never pressed Turuher to buy anything, of course--he detested that sort of mercantile behavior--but comic self-deprecation was one of the finer and more enjoyable virtues left to him.
When he looked aside, however, his attention was caught by the approach of another- the alchemist Sivan. Rare surprise overtook the tailor's generally-staid expression. What were the odds, he wondered, that both Turuher and the alchemist he'd commissioned to study the sailcloth should happen upon him at the same time, in a single festival? Sivan was headed his way, but he took the time to raise a hand to greet him anyway.
"Turuher, look here- it is Master Sivan, whom I spoke to recently about the Geleran cloth. Blessings of Ash upon you, Maker."
