“don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t exactly blend in.”
Laguna might not always have been the most perceptive of men, but he had noted the appraising look the other gave him upon arrival — as if he’d put his shirt on backwards or had an embarrassing lunch stain on his pants. He gave himself a quick once-over, checking for any unsightliness before returning quizzical blue eyes to the younger male, mouth opening to question.
Upon explanation the look became clear. It was true — his style was considerably less Estharian and considerably more… beach bum chic in a manner of speaking. Bare feet peeked through well-worn sandals, hands stuffed unceremoniously into the pockets of khaki capris, button-down shirt that might have been mistaken for semi-formal had it not been untucked and rolled at the sleeves with the white undershirt peeking from beneath a slack collar and jingling dog-tags. Even his hair was tied back in a slapdash manner, bits slipping out here and there around his face, refusing to be harnessed.
Not a single person would look at this man and think him presidential, much less of a prestigious and fashion-forward city such as Esthar, but this little detail did not seem to bother him much.
He waved it off with a puff of breath “never was a ruffled collar and big sleeves kind of guy — they tried to get me to wear the robe once and I tripped down the stairs greeting a foreign dignitary. Sprained my wrist and everything!” He took his hands from his pockets and rubbed at his left wrist as if it pained him to think of before ushering Squall into his office and allowing the door to slide shut behind him.
“How was the trip? Did you take the airship or the-“ he made a grand gesture with his hand, “school — Garden?” Clearly the thought still baffled him a little, but if he was being honest it was a sight he wouldn’t mind beholding; he may have been surrounded by Centran culture on a daily basis, but it wasn’t every day one got to witness a flying school!
