The Riverland Festival Gala, Part Deux [Open]

[Eitan Angevin]

15 Searing 121
The Hall of Inventors

"To mutually beneficial familial relations," he agreed quietly after Stef's tirade about Monteliyet. To be fair, he knew of the man, but hadn't met him. There was a whole decorum to the Reconciliators as there was to the Corps as there was to the nobility of Zaichaer. Eitan could code-switch at will, but it could be difficult to help others see the sense of one group from the outside. And he hadn't been present for Glade the 8th. His rank wasn't so high that he had gotten much more than the official line of Kalzasi bad, go away.

"At least this year, and perhaps going forward, you, Brenner, and I might repair to a drawing room or elsewhere for a post-mortem after any mutual parties. That might be the wisest course of action, angering neither of the lady battleaxes." He offered a shrug and a pert smile. Lady Angevin and Lady Dornkirk were both formidable women and it was best not to stand in their way when it came to social affairs. As a military man, he could say with confidence that it was an unwinnable battle, or, if winning was absolutely necessary, it would be a pyrrhic victory.

"As for the Monteliyet business, I don't actually know why any decisions around him were made. I am not so high in the power structure there as I am within the Corps. But while the workings of the Order might seem arcane from without, I can assure you that they follow their own logical courses. As in politics, there is always a reason why... If it were a political question, I would hazard the answer would be found by following the money." But as it was Order politics, it was anyone's guess. Eitan wouldn't go digging. His own career was a delicate balance of high society, military, and magic. His feet felt more steady on the deck of an airship than in the halls of the Order, so he focused himself there, though they had little to complain about him as a Warder.

"You know," he said, pausing thoughtfully, "I do hope you and Delia end up together. I've always envied you Dornkirks your brothers. It might be nice to count you as brothers-in-law, at least."

[Stefan Dornkirk]

The elder Dornkirk brother did not wave when a hand was raised in his direction, almost as if the man were aware that he was the topic of Stefan's ire, giving a curt not instead. He could respect the office at least. Eitan was a member of the same, after all.

He turned back to look at his conversational companion at the suggestion, tilting his head a little in a manner very similar to Brenner's interested look.

"I suppose we could at that. Mother and father are likely to retire as soon as we return to the manor, leaving the drawing-room entirely at our disposal if you've a mind to stop by. For a debriefing." He didn't wink as his brother might have, but there were the hints of a smile at the corners of his mouth. It settled back into a flat line as the conversation about the abomination continued.

One brow perked up at the assertations being suggested. It made sense, of course, it did. The family was wealthy, exceedingly so based on that monstrous carriage they traveled in. The reference to their monstrous nature was not lost on Stefan. He supposed it was often better to flaunt what you could not hide, no matter how grotesque. His parents would never have done such had one of their offspring been so tainted, they would have dealt with it as they should immediately. But things were different with the old nobility, losing face was often more than they could bear. That a good deal of money might have been laid down to give legitimacy to their mistake was shameful, but, sadly, entirely realistic.

"Hmm, I imagine you are right." The keenness of Eitan's mind was refreshing after the drivel of feminine company he typically spent these affairs awash in. The next comment brought his half-smile back. The genuine way that the younger man was letting him in was beginning to charm him, not entirely against his will.

"I can say I think we'd both be pleased if you were to be the chosen addition to our brotherhood." The Dornkirks knew the value of earning what one had, position or power or wealth. Most of their peers growing up had been handed theirs' on silver and silk. Eitan was old blood but he knew too what it was to fight for what you had. It led to a certain feeling of kinship between the brothers and the bastard, when Stefan allowed himself to feel it. There had been no telling if the bad blood would show itself when Eitan had been a boy but it now seemed quite obvious where his loyalties and abilities lay. "I will make inquiries as to why the troth never came to fruition. I do like Delia, and I can't imagine why my parents would object." The conversation was making him consider his impending nuptials with less apprehension than he had in months. Of course, it would take a fellow man to make courting less excruciating.

"If you handle the rest of the courtship it might go a good deal more smoothly than any previous attempt." He even laughed, his own quiet laugh.

Taking a less tense sip of his drink he then pointed with the glass in his hand,

"Speaking of ladies, do you know who the woman is, that Brenner has been escorting?" The dance hadn't been something to remark on, Brenner never had trouble finding partners, but he rarely kept by one for more than a dance unless they were interesting in some way.

[Brenner Dornkirk]

The haunting, arpeggiated strains of a new melody began to play on pianoforte as the dance floor cleared and the crowds and cliques dispersed to other parts of the ballroom to drink and chatter the night away. At least until the next set summoned vibrant Zaichaeri hearts back toward cavorting.

"I am rather fond of Gelerian schnapps." Brenner agreed, with a slight nod. "I'm half-Gelerian myself, you know. When my mother arrived here thirty odd years ago, she was quite the novelty. Terribly exotic, you understand, so she was rather the toast of the hoi aristoi. I'm sure your mother remembers the splash she made..." Along with the patronage of the Angevin family, it had been Lady Sylana who had helped legitimate Melchior Dornkirk in the eyes of the elites of Zaichaer in spite of his prior obscurity.

The Air Commander took a relishing taste of the rich, herbal flavour in his tumbler as Dreyfus paid him a few perfunctory compliments and swore a personal vendetta against Zaichaer's Most Wanted.

"Hear, hear." He responded, mildly, "And I wish you well in the effort. Every true heart of Zaichaer is eager to see the witch burn long and slow for what she's wrought." He said, lifting his glass in support of Dreyfus' sentiment, before taking another ratifying sip and placing it down on the bar. Eyes as blue as the skies Brenner commanded fell keenly upon Dreyfus' face, as it his expression twisted momentarily toward ire.

Brenner feared Dreyfus, indeed, though not in any potent or immediate way, as the mage might have preferred. The second son of House Dornkirk feared magic and mages in a broader sense, and Dreyfus' heterodox assertions had been enough to concern the young Air Commander. He wasn't afraid that Dreyfus might lash out as they were in a well-guarded room of military elites, the vast majority of whom shared Brenner's world view and trauma at the recent threat magic posed on Glade the 8th and during the Kalzasern visit to Zaichaer. Had Brenner's mild needling been enough to send Dreyfus into some aetheric rage, there were any number of people present who would leap at the chance to heroically put-down another uppity mage in front of so many powerful witnesses. If Dreyfus actually succeeded in doing harm to Brenner, with whatever power the Order permitted one so young to wield, it would also doubtless do further harm to the Montilyet name whilst bolstering that of Dornkirk.

"Indeed." Brenner nodded firmly, casting an inclusive glance toward Jane, "I can certainly see the value in a human divining rod." He blinked, as if catching himself in a faux-pas, though it had been surpassingly deliberate, "Apart from all the other worthy services you provide to the State, of course." The younger Dornkirk glanced across the room and caught the eye of the elder, beckoning for him and Eitan to join the three at the main bar.

"You flatter, Master Dreyfus." He rejoined, with the shadow of a sneer. He was surprised to hear Dreyfus mention the report, though his Gelerian training in stoicism hid any outward signs to that effect. "My report was a mere recounting of your altogether colourful opinions. Now..." Brenner gestured across to Stefan and Angevin, "I've just invited my brother and Air Commander Angevin to join us, so Jane?" Brenner placed a gentle, perhaps overfamiliar hand upon her shoulder with which he gently urged her backward.

"You may want to take a step or two away from Agent Montilyet. Eitan is another State Mage, and I should hate for your lovely dress to be ruined if our friend here takes to gushing. The staff back at Dornkirk Manor tells me blood is a nightmare to launder away."

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[Jane Farraway]

Searing 15th, 121. Hall of Inventors, Zaichaer

Jane raised her eyebrows at the revelation of Brenner's heritage. Now that he had mentioned it, she did notice an exotic tint to his and his brother's features that was absent in others at the Gala. In her brief childhood spent in Zaichaer, her family did not associate with the Dornkirks. The Farraways, before their collapse, did not easily trust the nouveau riche. From what she understood, her mother and grandparents had seen them as classless usurpers who threatened the livelihoods of the “Purebloods of the State”. Debt had humbled her mother in this regard, but the bitterness still remained.

“Why no, I had no idea. I will admit I—don't know too much about your family—your history, I mean. My mother has not spoken much about Lady Sylana, but they appear to have a—cordial acquaintanceship”

Carmen despised Lady Sylana. She kept up the appearance of civility towards her, especially considering the Dornkirks' now considerable status, but she always seemed to brood for sometime after any interaction with her. Jane doubted that the other even cared about what was likely a figure of irrelevance in her eyes.

The tension between the two matrons now seemed light compared to whatever seethed between Brenner Dornkirk and Dreyfus Monteliyet. The Reconciliator's compliment towards Jane was at first disarming, but she could not help but feel like he knew more than he let on. She had done well at the Institute but it was nothing so outstanding that it should receive outside recognition. Her attending was by no means private information, however, and it was likely that she had made her round in the rumor mill like any other. Jane quickly brushed off her paranoia, blaming it on her nerves, and nodded modestly in response.

“Oh, well, thank you, that's very generous of you. I must say, your outfit is outstanding. Striking to say to least”. Her comment felt woefully shallow, but she felt obliged to compliment him in return. And besides—it really was very nice.

It was strange to be included in the discussions of men of the State. So often she had found herself sidelined to the drawing room, confined to titters about Zaichaeri bachelors and the upcoming trends and events of the season. She had longed for something of substance and almost had it with Gereon of Geleros, but this was out of her depth. Glade the Eight. Venetia Childs. Training exercises. Anything she thought to contribute felt unremarkable compared to their experience. Instead, she only listened placidly, nodding along and eyeing the bartender, who seemed to understand her want for a refill.

Jane's attention was caught by Brenner mentioning Stefan and Eitan and she spotted them again from within the crowd. She took a furtive sip of wine, swallowing more than she had intended. Her mind raced with anxiety as she thought about the failed invitation her mother had extended to Stefan. Even worse was that cruel memory of how she had treated Eitan in their youth. It had been long since either and she knew polite society would not allow such things to be mentioned easily, but leaving them unspoken was sometimes worse than addressing them plainly.

Brenner had been refreshingly earnest in that regard, but his mockery of Dreyfus was beginning to make her nervous in a way that felt very justified. The dark look in the mage slayer's eyes was restrained, but behind them was the calculating threat of retribution. It was a threat of which she did not wanted to be included. As Brenner laid his hand on her to pull her away, feigning fear of Dreyfus bleeding on her dress, she began to feel like something of a prop in his escalating taunts. Irritation and wine was beginning to erode her inhibitions. In response, she took his fingers in her hand and lightly pressed her lips against them. It was not quite a kiss, but bold enough to be mistaken for one. A bold gesture for a bold man, she thought, but one that might make him take pause and consider his words.

“Nonsense, Brenner. I'm sure Sir Monteliyet knows how to avoid such a thing,”, Jane laughed with some affect. She patted his hand and let it fall to his side, “However, I do think I have been at the bar for long enough. It would be good for me to stand.”

Jane found her footing and waited for Stefan and Eitan to potentially join them. She thought of what she might say to either of them and was briefly grateful that the thick crowd could buy her some time.

[Dreyfus]

♅ 15th of Searing, Year 121, A.o.S ♅
Company: Brenner & Jane| Thoughts: Taking shot are we| Mood: Intrigued

---

♅ The wolf cut a glance at Brenner, realizing he was poking fun at him for his affliction, and how he handled himself at the attempted execution of Venetia. "Yes I can assure you in my 29 years of life I've come to learn how to avoid such things. I've become quick enough to catch it when it does happen, even through the pain of my scar. I bleed just like I would if I was crying regular tears. There is no threat of blood spray from me." he chuckled, ordering another round of whiskey for himself.

Did he think he was winning Ms. Farraway over by making him the butt of his jokes? Such cheap shots seemed to be beneath the Air Commander, or at least that's what Dreyfus believed when they first met. It was starting to seem as though this was the true face of the man when allowed his spirits.

Ms. Farraway however didn't seem so keen on the amusement at Dreyfus' expense, and it was made even more clear with his final joke she wanted no part in his mockery. The wolf's attention fixated itself on the woman, the wolf taking a sip from his glass before nodding to her words. "You must forgive the Air Commander, Ms. Farraway. With nothing better to do than patrol eventless skies and run mundane drills over and over again, one tends to overexaggerate when something or someone exciting is in their presence."

Dreyfus held his smile as he took a quick glance over to Brenner, before going back to conversing with the woman who he was trying to get a read on. "How long has it been since our two families have spoken to one another? I know there is animosity between our two families, but I believe that in this day and age, old grudges should not be passed down to the new generations."

With those words, he took a step closer to her, especially now that Brenner was not as close as he was in the beginning, and whispered just loud enough for her to hear him. "I may just be speaking for myself as I doubt my family feels the same, but I am truly sorry for the decline of your family and the part we played in it." Backing away he flipped the long ponytail of his that was draped over his shoulder behind him.

As he allowed her to marinate on that thought He could see the other Dornkirk coming their way, accompanied by a reconciliation from the Order. He recognized the face of the man, a man of the Angevin family. Though he had never met him, he knew something of the man. He had an impressive record of work but served on an airship as well. It was something Dreyfus had considered doing himself, but he knew his father would never approve of it, and it wasn't worth the headache of the constant worrying from him.

Finishing his current drink, he awaited the two newcomers to the conversation while his whiskey drink was placed in front of him. ♅

---

"Common Speech"
"Silandris Speech"
"Self-Thoughts"

[Stefan Dornkirk]

Just as Stephan turned to examine the Lady Brenner was escorting more closely he saw that Brenner was waving him, no, them, over to the bar. Glancing back at Eitan confirmed that he had seen it too.

"I don't suppose he'll believe we didn't see that when we were both looking at him? No. Very well."

Sighing he put his glass down on a nearby tiny table and straightened his coat as though he were about to step into a court of law. While Eitan found a place for his own mostly-empty drink Stefan took the opportunity to say,

"I did mean it, about you coming back to the House after. I doubt we'll get more time to really talk for the rest of the official evening and I'd like to catch up. It'll just be the three of us and my father's liquor cabinet, what do you say?"

The answer came as they made their way around the edges of the dancing area and to the bar. At least there would be drinks there even if there were also people. Speaking of people...

Stefan gave a crisp bow to the Lady, letting Brenner introduce him, then an equally crisp nod to Monteliyet, saying his name by way of greeting. When he heard the woman's name he blinked, yes, he had seen her before, or, at least seen her. When he had a rare free day he tended to spend it at the Academy, studying what tomes they had on the Clockwork Empire. He'd passed Miss Farroway in the halls there, several times though he didn't recall them ever speaking, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

"How do you do, Miss Farroway? I thought I recognized you from your studies, or, from my own, I suppose, at the Academy." His tone and mannerisms were hyper-civilized but he stumbled in conversation with strangers more often than not. Having Brenner before him and Eitan at his side was surprisingly nice. He was used to being vastly outnumbered in terms of people he knew in more than name at such parties. Not that he was planning an attack of any kind. A woman who was a scholar should be someone he could carry a conversation with.

Although... Cutting his eyes between Brenner and Monteliyet he wondered if there was already a battle brewing. Stefan ordered a double schnapps.

[Eitan Angevin]

"Oh, that's Jane Farroway," he supplied. He didn't know her well, but he had been schooled in the who's who of Zaichaeri society by his grandmother, who took it upon herself to ensure that her son's bastard didn't cause too much trouble for the family. The old woman still called him the little mongrel, but they had developed an affection nonetheless. "Ah, yes. You ought to have beckoned him over, but I suppose he would rather have reinforcements than be seen to retreat."

He set down his dregs and navigated the room at Stefan's side.

"Certainly. Alert me when 'tis time to raid the Dornkirk liquor cabinet." He chuckled.

"My lady," he said to Jane, and to the gentlemen, "Gentlemen."

He indicated to the bartender that he would have what Stefan was having and when it came, his hand came up to the small of the man's back as he leaned over to retrieve it. "Pardon me, old sport. These things do require lubrication."

Straightening up once his drink was achieved, he raised it for a toast, but didn't wait to take a sip. "Hail Zaichaer."

Other than that, he was affably quiet as they had been pulled into someone else's conversation and Stefan was bringing up old school days. Eitan was content to listen and observe. His grandmother had always said, "Even a fool, when he holdeth his peace, is counted wise: and he that shutteth his lips is esteemed a man of understanding." While Eitan didn't consider himself particularly wise, people at these parties did tend to overindulge and run at the mouth, proving themselves fools. He preferred to make a good showing or not be remarked upon at all, lest his father hear unfavorable things about him.

[Brenner Dornkirk]

Brenner blinked and, indeed, blushed as Jane's lips grazed his fingers. The gesture was warm enough to soften what may have been perceived as chastisement over the teasing he'd blithely delivered Dreyfus-ward.

"Oh, I hope I haven't offended your sensibilities with a bit of gentle ribbing." He gestured between himself and Dreyfus, "You know we military men are wont to take the piss, every now and again. Boys will be boys and all that..." And indeed, it seemed it was Dreyfus' turn to deliver some friendly fire.

"Oh, come now, Agent Montilyet... Surely it is no 'overexaggeration', as you so quaintly put it, to say that the skies remain 'eventless' due to the prowess of Zaichaer's Air Defence Corps. I would think that, after the tragic events of Glade the 8th and the sundry examples of magical malpractice that went on during the Kalzasern visit, a reconciliator such as yourself should envy the comparative monotony we airmen enjoy due to our effectiveness at our work. Feel free to call on us anytime you require assistance in the important duty Zaichaer relies upon you to execute. But I will concede your last point, Montilyet. Your presence does tend to promise excitement, of one kind or another. I never know quite what to expect..." And with that, he trailed off and turned his attentions to those on the approach as Dreyfus took the opportunity to whisper something to Lady Jane.

"Brother, Air Commander Angevin..." He regarded each with a sharp nod, and gestured to the two at his side with his glass, "Are you both acquainted with Lady Camilla Jane Farraway and Agent Dreyfus Montilyet?" He couldn't recall whether he'd seen Stefan interacting with Dreyfus at the party overlooking the botched execution-cum-massacre on Glade the 8th.

"Lord Stefan Dornkirk and Commander Eitan Angevin." He clarified for Jane and Dreyfus' sake, in case they weren't aware though he suspected both had at least been briefed if they weren't actually acquainted.

"Ah." He smiled, proudly, at Eitan's toast and raised his glass to echo that perennial salute, "Hail Zaichaer." He repeated, downing the rest of his drink and slamming the tumbler down gesturing with three fingers to indicate that he'd have the same as Stefan and Eitan.

[Jane Farraway]

Searing 15th, 121. Hall of Inventors, Zaichaer

Jane giggled as Brenner and Dreyfus exchanged banter, partially from nerves, but also to ease whatever insult the other might take. They were, of course, “joking”, but she had been witness to such jokes before. Too often they ended with both sides at the end of the other's rapier, or worse.

“Oh yes! It can be so easy to get carried away, especially at parties,” Jane said, looking between Brenner and Dreyfus, shaking her empty wine glass playfully.

As jabs against the Order and Air Defense Force flew, she smiled placidly, “Everyone has their slow days, I'm sure, but I think we can all agree that there are just as many days were too much happens.”

Her eyes widened as Dreyfus began to address the matters between their family. At first she was touched by this apparent attempt to mend the past and found herself at a lost for words. Her mother had told her nothing about whatever conflict the Farraways might have had with the Montileyets. Resentment was a standard to never be questioned. The mention of their name was only dismissed with curt words or bitter silence.

“Y-yes, I could not tell you. I am not even sure if my mother even knows”, she said with an airy laugh, “I agree. It does seem rather foolish, doesn't it? My family—and your's—shouldn't hold onto these ghosts of the past. I must say, it's—something of a relief that you brought this up. I'm glad you can see how ridiculous these slights can become when they're left alone for so long. They really do lose all meaning.”

"I may just be speaking for myself as I doubt my family feels the same, but I am truly sorry for the decline of your family and the part we played in it."

“I—beg your pardon?”, Jane stammered. His words had been like cold knife plunging into her side, draining the life out from her. She looked up at him, wild with shock, but he had quickly left to rejoin the others before she could respond.

Hot tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked furiously to keep them from running down her face. She stepped away so her companions would not see. The audacity of him to say such things so flippantly and to leave in the manner that he did. Indignation almost overwhelmed the flurry of questions that swarm throughout her mind. Jane looked across the ballroom and spotted her mother with the General. She clenched her gown and seethed with resentment as she watched her. Every smile, every gesture, every laugh was all so miserably calculated, constructed. Fake. All these years she hid the truth from her. Could she not afford a moment of honesty, even for her own daugther?

As though she could feel Jane watching her, Carmen turned and caught sight of her. She looked perplexed and it was clear she could tell something was amiss before her eyes strayed to Dreyfus. A grim scowl flashed across her face, followed by a determined glare that Jane recognized all too well. She shook her head at her mother and tried to wave her off, but the older woman seemed intent to interfere. Carmen smiled and leaned over to the General, gesturing at Brenner and Dreyfus. Whatever she was telling him seemed to impress the elderly man and he nodded appreciatively and began to shuffle in their direction with her in tow.

Jane panicked and began thinking of ways she could get her companions to leave the bar without causing a commotion. A grey haired server carrying a tray of fruit tarts walked passed Jane as he made his rounds, addressing her with some concern, “Feeling faint, my lady?”

He offered her a thin handkerchief with a knowing look. Jane accepted the handkerchief and nodded appreciatively, lightly dabbing her eyes and nose.

“Yes, this night air gets to me. Thank you.”, she replied.

The server gave a light bow and offered her his tray of tarts. Jane thanked him again and took one, feeling that a little food could clear her head.

With a cloud of dread hanging over her, she rejoined Brenner and Dreyfus just as Stefan and Eitan arrived. Perhaps more people would distract her mother from whatever she was planning.

“Good Evening, Sir Angevin,”she replied with a curtsy to Eitan. His aspect was reserved, almost severe. She was sure now that he did not recognize her, or at least pretended not to. Either way, it was an opportunity for a fresh start.

Jane's heart jumped as Stefan addressed her and she curtsied in returned. She shyly tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, “I'm doing well, Sir Dornkirk, thank you. Yes, I believe I've passed you in the library? Forgive me, I—tend to be single minded when I'm studying. I'm terrible about talking to people that way.”

She joined the newcomers in getting a fresh round of drinks, this time ordering a shot of Geleran Schnapps as the rest did. The bartender gave her an wary look, but her curiosity had gotten the better of her and she wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

“Hail Zaichaer”, she joined in the toast. She nearly choked mid-drink, the strength of it bringing tears to eyes. At first it was boggling how anyone could enjoy something so harsh, but soon the warmth that spread through her chest instantly justified it.

It helped to soften the insult she had suffered from Dreyfus and the possible intervention of her mother. Whatever would happen, would happen, and she decided to take each moment as they came.

[Myles Arnnett]

Click click click... The heels of polished dress boots perhaps worn twice now clicked against the marble. Myles was late, not that he minded to be late for something he'd never desired to attend. The fact that his older brothers had both passed on this event was surprising enough, but the fact that his father insisted he'd be there and even pulled rank to get him the leave for it was infuriating. Even his military career wouldn't allow him freedom from the whims of his domineering sire.

The dress suit he'd been given as an officer was in his opinion far to flashy. A black suit with bleeding red accents adorned with brass buttons and lapels. It itched his burns with starchy fabric and a fitted tightness that made him feel ill prepared for battle. Instead of his regular sword he carried a brass falchion. Once upon a time the blade was used to sever the hands of thieves tho it had been some time since it had been used thusly. Pinned to his breast was his silver officers medal. Next to it was a Bronze Cracked gear. Symbolizing the cog the cracks but doesn't break, the medal earned by those who'd sustained significant injury in the name of Zaichaer.

► Show Spoiler

Click click click. Myles clicked his tongue and wrinkled his nose, his subordinates had no end of fun at his expense when they found out they'd received a free day of leave due to his unfortunate forced enrollment to to the gala. Jonah his spear man had given him a bottle of cologne the he'd swore would be a hit with the ladies. In his opinion he just smelled like pine smoke now and due to the loose cap on the bottle it wasn't the most subtle. If smoke scented cologne was a joke on the part of Jonah... Myles mentally swore he would make the man exercise until he puked in the morning.

Regardless the time for curses and thoughts were over, his fathers note had said, “walk in, smile, agree with the generals, You'll be fine” He imagined the man chuckling malevolently as he pinned the note. Taking a deep breath Myles arrived at the front entrance to the hall of inventors admiring the craftsmanship of the ballroom in spite of himself. Striding in he took a glass of wine almost immediately offered him by a servant. He personally wasn't someone who could appreciate the bitter tastes most debutante's seemed to enjoy, but he wasn't one to turn down free drinks either. Downing the glass in two quick gulps Myles wrinkled his nose but otherwise held his composure. Scanning the ballroom he felt out of place the other fields of the military where far more represented at these social events. Deciding then to play the role of a fly on the wall he kept to the sides and listened as he slowly circled the hall familiarizing himself with its layout.

As he approached the side of the hall nearing the balconies he heard the clinking of glasses and a series of Hail Zaichaer's, Among the cheering voices he made out the tone of Eitan's voice or at least what he hoped was a familiar voice and approached, the man had aided in the the evacuation from the ashen ambush in the prior year. As he approached his eyes confirmed the presence of the man as well as some other seemingly familiar faces from his days in the military academy. He hoped his poor ability to retain names would not cause him to much trouble, and approached the group. Taking another glass offered him, a thankfully lighter vintage this time he echoed the parties “hail Zaichaer” before drinking from his glass and addressing Eitan. “Angevin, it's been some time, tho you seem no worse for ware, good to see thee.” Nodding to the others in the area he looked for any familiarity in the eyes of the others hoping he'd not yet committed a faux pas he'd have to hear from his father about later.