IN HUMILITY

[ | Continued from here // @concealedbybreeze 𝄞 | ]

“Peace,” he hums a laugh-like verse, hand raised and poised to decline the generous suggestion. There’s an effortlessly airy quality to the other’s tone that Elphin would liken to the refreshing winds that blow through the capital on a pleasant afternoon.

“You need not trouble yourself. This harp is my preferred instrument of choice, though as you can imagine, it is not exactly suited for such events without proper accompaniment.” Unquestionably lovely as the sounds it produces may be, he cannot fault those who would favor a more upbeat tempo to dance to. He plucks its strings in demonstration, melody lost and barely audible at present.

Now who’s this?

“Lively’s one way of putting it…” It’s an answer mumbled before he remembers himself. Fist curls to his mouth as he briefly clears his throat. “A busy evening, yes,” he better affirms with his more typical, assured volume. He shrugs. “Not really my pace, so you’ll have to forgive me if my small talk is lacking.”

Not if, but when, really. Just a matter of time.

On the topic of food, however… Perhaps the other has struck gold.

“Hah! You might regret asking - I’m not picky, I’ll have you know. Let’s see now…”

He looks Elphin over a moment, single brow quirked in appraisal. A lithe individual, fair… And a bard, from the looks of it. Hector frowns.

“I was going to suggest the cheese ball sticks but you probably need your hands clean, huh. Mm.”

A snap of his fingers.

“On second thought, you can just use a napkin, so yeah. Go for the cheese ball sticks. OR, if you’re feelin’ feisty, just grab a fistful of the shrimp.”

He nods. Yeah. Good stuff. Then, scratching idly at his cheek, he grins sheepisly. “Hard to go wrong with anything on the menu, really. Think they tried their hand some fare from abroad, even… Might find something from home…”

A pause as he plucks one of the aforementioned shrimp into his mouth. “… Wherever home is for ya.”

[ | Continued from here // @braveryinblue 𝄞 | ]

"That may be preferable, yes” Elphin assents, watching the blue-haired guest more closely than any of his recommendations. It is discreetly that he notes the other’s chosen attire and style of dress, whispers of fashion popular throughout Elibe, though not necessarily exclusive to the continent, he decides. 

With elegance befitting his station, he obtains a single shrimp from the ring, simply staring at the creature. The shell around the tail remains firm in his hold and its fresh scent seems to indicate it was recently prepared, likely still alive not long before the event opened its doors. Unfortunately, even before the incident that altered Elphin’s life, he had never cared for seafood as much as those living on the Western Isles for who it was a dietary staple. His teeth cleanly sever a small, child-sized portion of shrimp off the top with a quiet crunch and he finishes chewing in thought before speaking again.

“It is thoughtful of the archbishop to take that into consideration when composing the menu. Has anything of your own homeland been included in the selection? I am afraid I do not recognize any delicacies from Elibe, but my eyes are... somewhat lacking.”

Whether in judgment or defeat, Elphin’s eyes narrow to near slits. The first request of the night sounds suspiciously in line with one that Larum might make were she present and, unlike the daughter of Gerenal Douglas, he lacks any of the same incentive to humor it. He does, in fact, know the song no matter how tempted he may be to claim otherwise.

The silence he briefly lapses into thereafter is defiant as if the appeal might be rescinded once he opens his eyes anew. In contemplation, he reasons with himself that rejection alone should not spoil one’s evening, but upon remembering he’d given his word several times tonight that he would gladly play anything asked of him, relents.

It’s amusing at best, but he withholds any laughter the juvenile barb might have elicited. Elphin half-turns, expecting to meet some parody of nobility dressed in costly finery. And, to his credit, the individual is parading about in a dark ensemble consisting of expensive fabrics and trimmings, the solid swatches of black complemented by accents that echo long, cherry-red locks. While it may not speak to Elphin’s personal tastes, he can understand the general thoughts behind the concept. However, the mask on full display does catch his interest. He thinks, pedantically and, moreover, ironically one concealing their own identity should not speak in such disparaging tones. These gatherings do unfortunately attract this type in droves though and he has long resigned himself to suffering a lifetime of similar dealings.

“You misunderstand, my lord,” Elphin delivers in redress with a practiced poise that would do the instructors of his youth proud. “I carry this humble harp wherever I go as a token of remembrance.” A comfort too for the freedom it has provided him, he does not share. “Which is not to say it cannot be played, however as you have observed, it would easily be drowned out by the ongoing celebration.”

It is in neither the attire donned of a prince nor student that Elphin nonchalantly strides into the ballroom with measured steps, taking stock of his surroundings as one who has volunteered his musical facilities throughout the evening to play a selection of approved pieces. 

No stranger to the networking aspect of social functions, he navigates a sea of new faces, undaunted by Fodlan’s aristocracy who outwardly appear no more imperious than those of Etruria. They are young still, green as Myrddin himself was once. He no longer has a taste for such lavish displays of wealth, but he cannot forget himself here. He knows how to play their games and, in more ways than one, play he does. 

List of Engagements

1. K.

2.

3.

4.