Ready, Set, Go!
2nd - 3rd of Glade, 121 Steel
Brenner woke grumbling through his dry throat. The weight of his throbbing head on the pillow told him, lest he'd forgotten, that he'd overindulged in drink the prior evening. And night. And morning. Even now, he knew it was too early to rise and that he had little enough reason to force himself out of bed. He squinted through bleary eyes and reached around his nightstand for the glass of water he'd hopefully had the foresight to set out for himself. To his great relief, his quaky fingers closed around cool glass and he tipped his head up to gulp down its contents, sighing after the last of the water slid down his gullet. He reached to put the glass back, when he noticed a slip of paper stuck to the condensation on the bottom. He pulled it free and read the note from Stefan. He smiled. Good thing he'd left a note! He vaguely remembered a snack and a drink with Stefan by the fireplace, but the details of their conversation were hazy to non-existent and he certainly didn't recall making plans for tonight. But, since he had, that settled it. He was going back to sleep. He rolled over and nestled back under the duvet, sliding his cold feet back and forth to warm them up.
When he next rose it was afternoon. He rung for a hearty breakfast, and resolved to pay for last night's indulgences by training with Albrekt in one of the smaller, less trafficked courtyards of the manor. Brenner had known Albrekt all his life. He'd accompanied their mother from the Gelerian Imperium as one of her two bodyguards, when she first arrived well over thirty years prior. He'd been Brenner's first instructor in the martial arts and, though he was getting on in years, Albrekt had never stopped studying and practicing new techniques. Due to this, he was never a dull nor an easy sparring partner and, particularly with the haze of his hangover, Brenner was treated to a formidable workout from his old tutor.
He spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on the letters that had accrued at the house for him, whilst he'd been sailing the skies. It was mostly business, with a few odd personal notes from friends and acquaintances wishing him a happy new year or asking when he'd be free for a drink.
He sat for wine with his parents whilst they took an early dinner, and caught them up on the same mundane experiences he didn't recall sharing with Stefan the prior night. He spoke of his frustration at doing more exhibition than adventure, and Melchior chided him for his heedless angst whilst Sylana indulged and defended her "Little Brynn" as was her wont. After Brenner took coffee and sat with his parents through their dessert, the butler handed him a missive from the Windworks.
"Ah." He grinned, "I'm off to meet Stefan, then." He was glad it wouldn't be too late, as he'd worked up an appetite watching his parents dine on some of his favourite dishes. He stepped over to kiss his mother first, then embrace his father, before jogging back upstairs to change into something less posh and more discreet. He threw on a poet's shirt, and topped it off with a fitted, bronze brocade waistcoat with a wide, black leather lapel and matching accents at the pockets. He found a matching pocketwatch and affixed its copper chain to a button slit, before sliding into the pocket that rested over his left oblique. He tugged on a taut pair of trousers in a pattern that ranged from burnt umber to almost black, with three black leather straps like tourniquets rounding each of his slender thighs with their bronze buckles firmly fastened. He tucked in his shirt and adjusted his vest, then tugged on a pair of knee-high combat boots with a series of buckles that took him quite a while to fasten. The footwear afforded him a bit more height than fortunate had seen fit to grant him, to close some of the gap between himself and Stefan.
Thus garbed, he made his way into the Zaichaer evening and took a cab rather than one of the family's luxury coaches, and arrived to find Stefan already at a table.
"I got your note." He said, as he marched up and tussled Stefan's hair, before claiming the seat opposite him. "You're early..." He observed, checking his pocket watch just to make sure that was actually true. He'd rather lost track of time.
