The door did spill forth it's theatre goers, a babble of praise chortled into the air from the brightly coloured and well feathered hats that were slow to be removed. Praise concerning plays on words and words in plays that did set Valborast's eyes to shut in wincing at their inaccurate recital, punchlines fumbled and witticisms butchered with aplomb to cheery reception.
A quick inhale of breath, back straightening as if the laughter that did spill in was a quick snaredrum rolling. The port did swirl as a persona was resumed. What sly leanings and quiet remarks had played out were reshuffled into Valborast's social deck of cards, replaced with a far more rigged deck designed to serve a different game.
Valborast swirled his port and attuned his hearing to their haughty laughs that knew the luxuries of wasting time in style. Quick assessment of the volume of guffaws did measure their purse strings to hold much weight, even if their opinion that did ricochet between them did not. Not actors, just patrons. They tumbled in, four in number, much pomp in their circumstances, arriving near to bar, patient, yet still loud in their conversations and declarations. The loudest in dye and voice did parade forward, talking more at his fellows than with.
“I dare say they shall soon be famed realm wide for their wardrobes if nought else! I do declare, I have seen them thrice this week and each time the feathers in the peacock crown do seem to grow more abundant! Although not as many feathers as the one in the cap of the lead, who warbles well from what I hear from those I know who are in the know you know. Name of one Sebastian Weltereed, crack shot at billards and lies about the tenor range, delivers elvish as if the chap had elocution lessons from one himself. Mayhap he has! Many do and proudly to deliver such things rightly.”
A further chortle of amiabilities. One who seemed more sheepish in their laughter and more flummoxed by something was addressed with playful stern thwack of the hand to velvet shirt from the one who lead the conversation.
“And speaking of corrections to the speech, Wilbur, be a good sport and get a brace of sherries for us, you do owe us all such for such beastly rudeness that second act. You're terrifically lucky I do not ask this fine barstaff for soap, had the accompaniment not drowned out your curses I would scarce show my face again with you!”
Another more rawkish peal of laughter, some embaressed splutters from Wilbur, who seemed mortified by the mention and was quick to fumble about a purse.
“Show such graces old boy for such lapses and all will be forgiven. Come come, let us be seated, and let Wilbur pay his penance. Now, as I was saying on our way here, the delights of the third act-”
Away did they wheel to seating as Wilbur shuffled near Valborast. Wilbur himself a man in his early twenties, by all appearance seemed dapper and sure of finances, yet in this moment seemed more a pauper pretending to afford ticket prices beyond his station, coins counted careful and double checked as if his arithmetic did not serve on the counter.
Wilbur gave mutterings full of blame upon himself, and Valborast did listen to the self admonishment, self flagellation turning to rueful mourning of the cost of attrition and contrition.
Valborast's lithe lands did slide some coins in sleight of hand to save the charity from being seen from Wilbur's now seated company. And with this gesture, Valborast began the process of investigation with quiet assurances and leading questions to his company who fawned at his purse, unsure yet relieved in this moment for such bolsterings.
Valborast was set to taking charge of the order when service would arrive, and filled the time until such with careful quiet talk with Wilbur, explaining and assuring him that he was not the first to be lost to such impulses to curse, and that perhaps the life of the critic was more his calling than to be a overextended socialite for such a gut reaction turned so irresistibly vocal. Such white lies were required to get to the truth Valborast was charged to seek. Wilbur seemed at once taken by the financial reinforcement, and found himself willing to be persuaded for want of explanation for his outbursts.
Another peal of laughter rose from the table, and Wilbur did yield some particulars before the moment of his faux pas that would have driven him beyond his financial means in penance to Valborast, who did paw at his expensive gloves and let his port rest as Wilbur did ruminate.
“Sherries for the critic Wilbur's table, who has today discovered The Gift of Discernment,” Valborast would say conspiratorially when service would find the time to render drinks, and perhaps some final assistance to the lie Valborast was near finished weaving.
@Matvi Iramene @Maevyth @Xenovia
