Open Surely we'll sing of no little thing

Oh, Walter's awareness missed nothing, not a single unique gait that shook the dance floor, not the cacophony of voices that his mind was splitting and separating by origin, not the way light glinted on cutlery and accessories and buttons and clasps and buckles, and not the way shadows moved with their sources. As if he half-expected them to misbehave.
Exhausting.

So it was a small, delightful boon that a beautiful man's eyes traveled over him without apprehension, and a smile curved that full mouth, adding a spark of daring to the inspection. The southerner was not in the very least subtle about the watching bit, so, when that crimson gaze had reached Walter's face, Walter's eyes briefly flicked to meet it, head on, without him switching posture. A smile touched the corners of the lord's mouth, and his eyelids lowered closed, casting a faint shade from the eyelashes.

"Lovely. I think I can catch the scent of cardamom, cloves and honey, so it must be sweet. I've a weakness for sweet brandys. Forgive me, then, for sourwisp liquor is only second favorite of mine, yet a staple of my home of Bremen."

He followed up that motion smoothly, by taking his seat. His posture was idly, casually schooled - no hunching back, no slouching shoulders. If someone asked him in this moment - he was relaxing. He cast another look to Aelius that brushed up the neck to one of the earrings, strayed to the mouth and met the eyes again. And - drifted to the drink, then to the exorcist.

Truly, a lovely sight through and through, exotic, balanced in the features, seeming to radiate with a comfortable resonance that passed right around the obscurata without touching. But the sunshine disposition was enough. The sparkly glances and grins were enough. Good show. If the boy was as daring as the Captain out there, Walter would have to retreat before he'd embarrass himself. The key feature of his upbringing, truly. Look and don't get caught looking.


"Oh," the baron chuckled, the polite smile parting his lips, baring a hint of fangs a touch too large and covering them in the same beat. "I'm pleased, but I owe it all to my tutors, of which two had to suffer me. I'm glad that it provided the wherewithal to those who surely can now bear no shame in playing worse nor cause harm in playing better. I'd rather sing, and the liquor is to that end," he chuckled, again, gloved hand resting on the tabletop.

His focus on the exorcist was much less pure aesthetic admiration and more of a curiosity for detail. The simple folds of clothing hid layers, the perk of the twitching ears nor tail was certainly not commonplace. How quaint, too, the shapes that made the air shiver around him with shreds of weave bleeding through. Walter did not look into that deeper - he'd already seen.


The lord's face brightened. It was not a subtle baring of fangs in a promise of a bite. It was like a rare clearing of the parting clouds to the skies that were forever shades of clear, pure, heart-lifting blue. A different smile, a pleased one. Those early lines on his face were a little fainter for a moment.
"Wait," his hand shot up, calling the attention. "Common propriety in Altalusia calls for you to pour the drink yourself, but I happen to know that in the east it is the host's duty. Let us try and resolve this thusly. By plaguing the man who can't man the front door properly. Reginald, come! I've use for you!"

He had very little desire to suffer society alone, and his attendant was on duty by technicality.
It took a bit and a stutter, and almost a ripple of passed voices until Reggie almost jumped from the table he was at, and, quick like a very tall lizard, slinked over, only for Walter to point at the bottle.
"We're sharing liquors. Given the station, I cannot rightly pour. Consider this your discipline."

Reggie swayed a little, with a hushed shuffle of breath fully pulled into his lungs through nose alone - perhaps, in an attempt to stifle a motion in the throat, or sober up. In the short span of... several hours that Walter had been absent from this whole affair, the attendant had made great progress. At least, if one were to judge by his flushed cheeks, and ears, and neck, and that glint in his eye betraying that whatever he said would come out with a slur.
Thankfully, no words had been shed, and the attendant managed to keep his balance just for the few seconds enough to pour the cup. No swaying, running right into the table, or spilling the precious alcohol. Because it was precious here, every commodity that had to travel for weeks, all the way, and thus be paid for and planned for weeks in advance.

Walter's eyes fixated on Momoshiro with interest, flicked off to the attendant, and he indicated his own small glass, and Aelius' flask. A jet eyebrow shot upward slightly - what exactly was the hold up?
Attention refocused, while the drink poured. Violet eyes studied the fox man's features. The way the drink was tried, and savored, and analyzed. Tried to catch the precise beat when the spice would kick in, when sweetness would bloom with a hint of freshness to the tongue. And then he relaxed, and eyed the golden liquid in his own cup with a smile. The easterner was cartainly polite in not offering a negative opinion when there was no positive one.
"You are very courteous, indeed," the baron echoed to the sentiment, and waved over the concern for timing.

"Oh, but tomorrow's far away!" He turned his head, eyes a devilish dark glint, the name drawn out like contract signature - of the kind that's rendered in blood. "Reginald, you may have leave and clean conscience - after you've gathered at least four samples for Momoshiro's teas. You may seek help from Anthea - if she is awake. Or Illyn - even if the man is in his cups, he has a whole week ahead of him. If you bother Percival before specific requisitions are formulated, you get ten willows in the stables. Manage, and all is forgiven. Go."

A man at the door should manage folk. Request credentials, let through the expected ones and avoid letting anyone get a jump on the lord within his own domain. Failing that ended in a failed attempt scar or a few. Reginald was still green in the gills, it seemed.

"Your health!" The baron raised the Arshakan brandy up, eyed Momshiro, Aelius, let his gaze briefly linger on the latter as he tasted the concoction. The warmth hit him where he was vulnerable, going through his throat into his chest and leaving a delectable trail of spices. Eyes sunk closed for a moment as it spread. "Quite." He let a half-pause linger, and offered a bright grin. "Quite good! I would not imagine it without some food lest we turn bitter drunks, but it's so sweet that it should last us quite a while before we turn bitter for its absence, instead!"

SLAM!

Walter's face dropped. There was a brief, jolting moment when his breath clearly stopped, and his eyes and head snapped to the source of an unnaturally loud thud. Moments later, his features eased. He chuckled under his breath, and watched Agatha arm in arm with Dorothea, before the Huntress was stolen by another man... one of the knights that arrived just in time to get these last shreds of revelry before hard work. There were no latecomers, not to this effort - but certainly those not spared the same levity come the next morning.


Walter's smile turned wistful. He took another mouthful of brandy, and tried to offset the bitter tension in his own chest to those words.
He knew that the Captain had her moments, too. But he'd been here first. Not that he was sleeping any better before Arpa. All revelry did is put a door between him and everything that troubled him until it opened in the morning under the duty's weight.
"Commonfolk's virtue," he mused. "Tell me, you two of the south and the east. If I were to live to my silver years, and decide to travel for whimsy - what would be the best sights worth making the journey for? Which things, simple or delicate, that come from Arshaka and Aetochi, should a man eat and drink before he is allowed to call his life properly lived, in your opinion?"

There was a brief twitch of a brow at Momo's comment on Aelius' divine heritage, but bright smile remained. "Burden?" He repeated, almost incredulously. "It is a blessing." Words he'd been told a million times over, repeating aloud now. No matter how much he saw it as a burden, the High Clerics always insisted... blessing, blessing.

A brief flicker of a fire threatened the edge of his vision, distant screams, the High Clerics' voices reassuring 'It was no accident, Son of Ko, it was His will.' 'They were blasphemers, child, they deserved this divine punishment.'

"Not a burden at all."

The lord's presence and conversation was very welcome at that point.

He was genuinely delighted to watch the scene unfold before him. The man who agreed to remain acquaintances with alcohol acquiescing to the lord's offer, Walter navigating cultural differences (that Aelius hadn't even known about) with the utmost grace (and humor), the drunk attendant who managed to pour without losing a single drop, and finally as glasses were taken up... Aelius lifted his own in cheers. Good food and drink were nice, but it was the people he was more interested in. Why close eyes to savor the notes of the drink, when he could drink it down quick and instead savor the sight of pretty men's lips, admire the way their hair framed their faces, watch their expressions as they considered the taste.

The sudden slam got a similar reaction from Aelius - as with many of the nearby warriors who snapped to attention, only to ease back into merrymaking - posture upright, hand flexed as if ready to grip a weapon, or perhaps weave some fire, eyes locked on the dancefloor. And then, he sunk back down, leaning back on the table and letting his smile return. Chair tilted back again so it balanced on two legs.

He peered over to the foxkin as he commented and nodded, grinning. "We have a night of respite. It would be foolish to not enjoy it. Why poison it with unnecessary trouble, when that can be lumped in with everything else tomorrow?" He shrugged a shoulder and chuckled.

At the barons' question, Aelius perked up. "Easy. The bluffs just outside of Naya Vapna have the best view of the sea - " a hand raised as he dramatically and animatedly illustrated the view. "- especially when the storms kick up. You can feel the power of the wind and taste the storm in the air. The sun always shines on Arshaka, so the contrast between the stormy seas and the sunlight above is breathtaking, humbling, even. And then, there are the hanging gardens." They were exclusive to nobility and the powerful only, but that never really occurred to Aelius. "Tucked between cliffs, grown over statues carved into the cliffside, spilling over the top and hanging down the sides of the cliffs, the most beautiful flowers..."

"...and, of course, you simply must visit the main temple to Koh. Naya Vapna is grand and beautiful, of course, but I am biased in my favorite spot." He winked. "We have the best vineyards, so anything from there is a top recommendation. I have a preference for our pastries; spanakopita for something savory, baklava for something sweet..."

He paused, leaning an arm on the table and resting his chin on his hand. He turned his warm smile towards Momo. "What about you?"

Momo's ears tipped forward at Aelius's answer, his attention lingering on the paladin for a moment longer than before. The word blessing had been delivered with such certainty that Momo found himself wondering about it, though he could see something in Aelius's expression that suggested the matter was perhaps more complicated than the man's cheerful answer allowed. He did not press. Instead, his gaze drifted toward the dancing crowd as Aelius described the bluffs and hanging gardens, his imagination quietly filling in the places he'd never seen.“That does sound beautiful,” he murmured, a small smile forming. “I think I would like the bluffs. Somewhere you can watch a storm approach without being in the middle of it sounds rather pleasant.” His eyes returned to Aelius as the paladin continued, and the mention of pastries drew a faint, amused twitch from one ear. “Though I suspect I would have difficulty refusing the baklava.”

Walter's question, however, had given him something else to consider. Momo turned his attention toward the baron, idly rolling the little cup of brandy between his fingers before taking another modest sip. The warmth was settling into him now, loosening some of the usual reserve that kept his thoughts neatly tucked away. “Aetochi is rather large,” he began, considering his answer. “So I suppose it depends on what sort of journey you're after. If you want beautiful places, there are plenty. If you want food, even more.” His smile grew slightly. “But if you're going to travel all that way, I think you should see Sonshan. The mountains around it are worth the journey alone, especially when the weather is clear. There are places where you can look down across the valleys and see the villages scattered beneath you like little lights.”

He paused, his gaze wandering somewhere beyond the tavern walls as the memory took shape. “And if you make it to Sonshan, you should eat properly while you're there. There are noodle shops tucked away in the older districts that look like they haven't changed in generations. Little places where the owner knows every customer by name and will decide what you're having before you sit down.” A quiet laugh escaped him. “I've never been particularly good at arguing with people who have already decided what I'm eating.”

Momo's fingers tapped lightly against the side of his cup as he thought of what else to offer. “As for drinks... tea, obviously.” His expression became entirely serious for half a heartbeat before the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “Though I suppose that answer might disappoint Walter after he went to the trouble of bringing something considerably stronger.” He lifted the cup in a tiny acknowledgment toward the baron. “There are several teas grown in the eastern highlands that are worth trying, though. Some are delicate enough that you can taste the flowers they grow beside. Others are smoky and earthy, especially when brewed over an open fire.”

His gaze shifted between the two men, his expression softening into something more reflective. “But I think the best part of traveling through Aetochi isn't any particular place or dish. It's the smaller things. The little shrines along mountain roads. The old bridges over streams. Festivals in villages you've never heard of. Finding some tiny shop because you followed the smell of something cooking.” His ears relaxed slightly. “Those are the things I remember most.”

For a moment, Momo fell quiet, his thumb brushing absently along the rim of his cup. There was a certain fondness in his expression now, though it carried the faintest trace of something melancholy beneath it. Home was a complicated thing to remember. There were places he missed dearly, and others he had learned to leave behind. Yet speaking about them like this made them feel a little less distant.

He looked toward Aelius again when the paladin had asked what he would recommend, and his smile returned.

“So, if you ever find yourself in Aetochi, I'll give you the same advice you gave Walter. See the mountains. Eat until you're uncomfortable. Drink too much tea.” His ruby eyes flicked toward the brandy in his hand. “And apparently, try whatever the locals insist you try, even when you're reasonably certain it might be a mistake.”

A quiet laugh escaped him, and he raised the cup slightly.

“Though I think tonight has already proven that last one isn't terrible advice.”

Why poison it with unnecessary trouble, indeed. The baron chuckled under his breath - the tallest man in the room clearly had people handling the everyday trouble. He would prefer trouble. Trouble was an old, familiar friend, they spent so much more time together than the room more than half-filled with complete strangers. So much noise and movement that his mind was barely keeping up, but... he'd fought worse. Just had to lurch that focus to something. The more specific, the better.

His eyes left for the dance floor, briefly. To see if Agatha was still there, not that she could help, but... He understood Agatha, to the exact amount of understanding that a former Black Dog would, to the exact amount that a lord understood a mercenary. Down to earth, a touch cynical, probably self-starter.

But Aelius spoke of beautiful things, and Walter listened, that back posture impeccable even when idling.
The talk of the sea made him think of Thornhall. The cliffs going out towards the sea, the weaver-carved stairs and tunnels, the few trees that separated the view from his windows from the night's sky glimmering with cold pinpricks of light and adorned in an array of colors splayed on black... and the black abyss of undulating waves below. It was beautiful during the day, at night - that same expanse felt worlds apart. To sit on the edge of the white cliffs, then, and listen to it, was... interesting.

He hummed a chuckle to the joke, made mental notes for the pastries, vaguely recalling that in the southmost Free Cities they did have similar... hm. Attention drifted to Momo, frayed by a group nearby arguing about the best place to drink ale.
Crorefell. It's far away from here, and it's full of the type you can punch that will punch back.


"Sounds like a few peaceful weeks to travel and contemplate. Should the silver years come, I would pity the fool who'd seek to break my contemplation hours," Walter mused. Took a mouthful of brandy, set down the empty cup.

"Noodle shops? I might ask you to elaborate on that later, would imagine the noodles aren't served on their own... Would it be fine to travel as is?" He gestured abstractly in the air. And smiled, sympathetic. "Well if I can't find you there to ask directions, I'll make sure not to waste your share." A splash of sourwisp liquor added to Momo's cup, then his own, Walter raised a short silent cheers, and drank. His face did not betray any intoxication setting in, despite that tell-tale palor... save for the rims of ears turning slightly pinker.

The dizzy haze was settling. And he was so wound up that it just stirred more tension.
"Give tonight a chance. Garrick thinks that everyone is on the best behavior because both me and Agatha are showing our faces." He tried to sound light-hearted, but even good company could not entirely change the fact that this was not the place he wanted to be. Methods of retreat needed to be devised before either his mask cracked or he was driven insane by the amount of goings on that bore no weight nor import. Or both. Nothing betrayed it, though. He was very good at keeping a serene expression right up until... "Though the two of you seem insistent on avoiding proper etiquette when it comes to names. Do you call noble born by first names where you come from?"

Chin still resting on his palm, drink swirling in his free hand, Aelius listened with rapt attention. There was a particular sparkle in his eye as the lands foreign to him were illustrated with such fondness, like the glint of sunlight reflecting off the sea at dawn. He ate up every word. With that broad smile and shine in his eye, it was clear how much he longed to experience such a place. Somewhere new, somewhere different. Sure, the paladin's visit here was... different, but... well, this was business. And a rather nasty business at that.

"Agreed, it sounds lovely. Peaceful." Strange concept. "I would love to see it some day. Perhaps if Aetochi is ever in need of help, I can make my way over." Likely the only way he'd be able to travel there. This was the first time he'd been allowed out of South Ilica, and it was only to help with this operation. Allegedly, to start reaching out an olive branch. More likely, even Aelius knew, it was to show off the weapon that was the son of their God. But, that was neither here nor there.

Aelius' gaze drifted to the dancefloor at the mention of the ork woman. It wasn't hard to find her twirling through the crowd. He hummed and took a long, slow sip as he admired her. "Agatha," he repeated, a tilt to his lips. "The Shield Captain whose gaze alone could pierce armor." He spoke with a particular intrigue, despite knowing that piercing gaze was certainly trying to figure out how easily she could take him down when they met just earlier. "Best behavior, you say?" His eyes flickered to the lord for a moment before his smile widened to a mischievous grin. "Think if I misbehave, she'll give me the time of day? I could just ask for a dance, but I think she may stab me through if I do." Another sip, and murmured into his cup, "Not that I would mind."

The paladin's attention was brought back to the nobleman at the question. He tilted his head with a jingle and smiled, like a dog that knew it was being talked at but understood nothing. "Hm? Of course." A simple, smiling answer. Of course titles didn't matter to an alleged demigod, not when it came to those 'below' him. His smile brightened and, entirely misunderstanding Walter's frustration, added, "But don't worry, I'm not concerned with titles! They can be so exhausting at times. Just Aelius is fine."

Smile, sparkle sparkle.

Momo's ears twitched at Walter's question, his gaze dropping briefly to the cup in his hand as he considered it.

“Not... quite.”

A small sheepish smile tugged at his mouth.

“In Sonshan, names are usually a little more complicated than that. There are given names, family names, titles, clan names... and which one you use depends rather heavily on who you're speaking to.”

He glanced toward Aelius, amusement flickering briefly in his eyes as the paladin cheerfully insisted that titles were unnecessary.

“But I suppose that is one way of solving the problem.”

Momo lifted his cup in Aelius's direction before taking another sip. The sourwisp liquor was stronger than the brandy, though he wasn't about to complain about it. He could feel the warmth settling a little deeper now, loosening his shoulders as the evening continued.

“As for traveling as you are...” He looked back to Walter. “You'll manage. Sonshan isn't particularly hostile to foreigners, though you may attract some attention depending on where you go. And if you're wandering through the older districts, looking sufficiently lost will probably earn you directions whether you ask for them or not.”

A faint laugh escaped him.

“As for the noodles, no. They're rarely served alone. Broth, meat, vegetables, eggs... every shop has its own way of doing things. Some will make a bowl so large you'll wonder how anyone is expected to finish it.”

His eyes brightened slightly at the memory.

“Those are usually the good ones.”

Momo glanced toward the dance floor when Aelius mentioned Agatha again, watching the Shield Captain for a moment before looking back at the two men.

“And I wouldn't worry too much about asking her for a dance.”

His smile became faintly mischievous.

“Getting stabbed would certainly make it memorable.”

He took another sip.

“Though perhaps ask first.”

"Can call me Jim if it suits you, Ma'am," he went on, heel toe, heel toeing with the fiddle's wail. Never one to shy away from a dance, he hop stepped there to the bold woman's arm, the dance there calling for one hand to mirror the other, and there dance about the palm's kissed. "Though most call me Hector," he said, nod there with it.

The music swelled, and they turned about the widening dance floor, rhythm and beat egging them on to step faster. Bounce more. Skirts and belts, flaring with the tilt of it all. He laughed.

"You ain't half bad yourself, Captain Agatha," he had heard the others call her. Nor had he forgotten the Blackshields visit to the Monastery, all those years ago once a winter's dream. "Careful now!" he teased as the step quickened. "This is the fun part!"

Those about them stomped and clapped and stomped and clapped whilst the singer crooned out over the gathering thunder.

"Whence I woke frightful and full of fear, my heart broke just to hear
shattered cross the sky,Why oh dear oh why, as ghouls did watch me die
I grabbed up dad's old steel, so to stab them real, in those guts there twisting
And down the road I ran! Fast as lightning can
No help from any man, no matter much as I was wishing

Moons, just let us die
Slay the ghoul, and do be sure to take its head
Less Sitha's moon! Bring it back again, just to say goodnight!"

Has jealousy tinted the slightest corner edge of his mind when the attention of the lad turned to Agatha. Fingers furled ever so slightly around the base of his small goblet and he lifted it to his lips, humming non-commitally to the sentiment. Looking away. Smiling to himself that slight, soft smile.

Not his place.

So, the sunspot was omnivorous when it came to people, it would seem. And completely irreverent. The irreverence was not refreshing, but the note on being restricted in travel was certainly put to note.

Walter laughed.
"A curious thing, we don't kneel to Ko or your faith, my dear paladin - so the men will likely start calling you something to suit your station besides. It will be respectful, I promise, we of Bremen are taught proper etiquette."

The spirit-weaver's smile did not go unnoticed. Something buried there, in that phrase about the names and the titles. Walter's mouth curved, eyes alight with glimmers of candles and the spark of curiosity.
"I'd better learn the language then. But how does one learn, in the middle of this affair that's bound to be quite long?" He poured a little liquor into both of their cups, indicatively, and continued, "If you would humor me, I have a grasp on a few, even some older dialects, but not Aetochan."

The party seemed to be taking a turn accompanied by an awful sort of limerick. Not the best time to sing of bloodshed when people were trying to forget it. Walter turned, as if to observe the stage, caught the eyes of one of his few men on the unenviable duty of staying sober and watching, and raised a hand to his temple to rub at it ever so subtly. The man started moving.

The song would hopefully soon end, replaced by something as lively but different in tone. A folksong from the harvest season soon approaching, a simple, rhythmic cheer that made one think of straw and putting down the scythe after the day is done, the weaving of fabric for shirts, the dance on the morrow.

'Would you like to dance?' a distant voice crept up into memory twenty years faded.
They were so young. I can't.
'Why?'
There is no music.
'I can hum a tune.'
Sadness came softly like a lover's whisper.

Walter turned, and raised the goblet to pour some drink into his mouth and excuse the silence.
"Sounds like your noodle shops are like our bakeries," Walter mused. "I come from part of the lands where the soil is as dark as the veil is thin, and we've learned to bake flour into art, from sweet honey-glazed curls to loafs and bricks and braids of bread, all different texture and for different occasions and dishes. Those blushed buns are what a lot of folk from Bremen will miss soon enough."

A huff through the nose.
"Saers, you are both mastering the art of contemplation in this moment. Bloodshed shan't be allowed in this place, so take no shame in learning our dances." He tried his best for an encouraging smile. The room would only get louder, until the wee hours of dawn. "Go. Be daring."

'How do I waltz?'
You put your hand in mine, and the other...
He still remembered that evening, the autumn darkness of the room, the warm spot in the cold halls that they've hidden away from everyone.
'I want you to promise...'
I promise.
'But I haven't told you what yet.'
Very well then, tell me.
'When you're lord, don't send me away. I just want to be with you. Can we stay like this?'
We could go to the Free Cities. I'd make a living. Dolores would take over, she'd be a good ruler- I'm sorry, I mean to say-

Walter drank to the last drop, blinking away the ghost of what happened days after.
Do I get to join you here soon, love?
He thought he could hear the opening chords for the ballad of the swan and the eagle, flowers woven into hair coming off with gore in claws, and suddenly he could barely stomach it anymore.

His vision focused on Momoshiro, again, and he asked, "You carry yourself curiously. Are you nobleborn, or with some sort of clergy, master Komori? Your calling must be truly inspired, so far away from home."
Behind the baron, a faintest, faded hand of a shape through which people walked and danced, reached out to brush Walter's shoulder. Something was there for a moment, before becoming completely intangible.