As she is guided to her final seat, the Princess of Rausten can't help but feel a slight shift. In what, she is yet to ascertain. Perhaps she could attribute it to the practiced silence of the figure opposite - the sort formed, not out of a lack of words to say, but a lack of desire to speak them. Or maybe it was the sudden change of colour - verdant green for broiling red. Or maybe it was that, as she went to sit down, it had taken her an unusal amount of time to notice that the chair opposite her was occupied.
Now, she had on occasion been slandered with a somewhat fanciful mind, that liked to take long and fulfilling wanderings down various paths of thought, but to have missed so imposing a figure was frankly startling. Not that a princess would ever conceed to so ungainly an expression as a start. Instead, she manouveres her widened eyes and jolting hand into an grab, instead of a flail - reaching her palm over the table to grasp the card between them.
Furrowing her brow in studied concentration, L'Arachel affords herself a moment to catch her breath, before speaking. 'Well, naturally I am proficient in all manner of dance! Uncle ensured that I would be acquainted with the essential compositions, and I have heard tell that my comportment is second to none!' She says, with characteristic modesty. 'Of course, I have had little occassion to dance of late... In fact, my most recent partner in such matters was my very own retainer!'
She feels herself relax a touch at memories of Rennac, going from a most ungainly slouching to frankly shocking courtesy - really, that had been far more startling than her conversational partner's seeming to manifest from nowhere!
'As for singing, well, if you must know,' She says, as if the man opposite her was absolutely desperate to be enlightened, 'I have been known to pen some small ballads, when the muse descends!'
She carefully tucks a strand of green hair behind her ear, and pulls her gloves taunt, as if preparing to venture into dangerous, and potentially explosive territory. 'If you so wish, I am sure I can find it in me to afford you some small sampling of my talents.'
From station to station, position to position ( ever the dutiful soldier, stalling no where and hurrying quickly elsewhere ) he had made due haste for his newly appointed seat ---- for an early peering, a chance to observe the happenings around him. Pairs separated, certain matches pleased in their outcomes, others disgruntled ; pleasantly, he could consider himself the former, although 'pleased' was a bit too courteous of a way to phrase it. He was . . . tolerable of the company he had endured thus far.
But the spry visage of chartreuse and its accompanying, unabashed audacity to pilfer into the space of another ---- the space of his unwitting match ---- squanders all idealistic outcome: that he'd leave with his nerves un-frayed. She is boisterous and shrill and all these things that grate on his ears and pierce his blood to a boil ---- hell, he's growing vexed just watching her.
But he'd done this before ( the enduring boisterous company ---- Orochi could pester any soul into insanity ---- not the . . . match-making tradition often reserved for willing women. Not that he had . . . ever truly understood the process, or the want ). She would irk his ire, but the diligence and resolve of Igasato was steadfast as iron and twice as hot as when it was being forged ; this boisterous child was nothing.
L'arachel ---- her card had introduced her, so he felt no need ( nor the slightest inclination ) to ask ; and if she had half the brain he thought she did to ramble so quickly, he'd reckon she'd catch sight of the card at his place and put the word on there to mean his name. If she didn't? That wasn't his problem.
What she did make mention of, however, was a few things he'd note: an uncle ---- alive or dead, he didn't know, but that her uncle was an active figure ( or was an active figure ) in her life further implied that her parents were, in some way, uninvolved ( ---- deceased? ). That, or her family was one of so few to retain good terms throughout its members. The next sliver of intel ---- though he was hard-pressed to think her aware of just how much she was providing him ---- was that she had a retainer. Now, wouldn't that imply status? And wouldn't her knowledge in these fancy things reinforce that?
All that said, aside from L'arachel, who was she? Another upper-class member of Fodlan? Or an overseas noble? And her uncle ---- who was he? His name? And her retainer?
All matters to assess later. For now . . . he had to put up with her.
"No thanks," He refutes, shaking his head, silently adamant against any performance she might burst out into. "You've squawked enough for me. I don't dance, and I don't sing. If you need an audience, the wall over there looks bored."
