— closed starter for omar finnigan ( @commanderofthefall ) / 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚜
— scene: balcony outside the great hall, during a feast
having made enough money to fill yet another leather purse on his belt, saionji ren thanks the idiot cadre from dawn for their sportsmanship and excuses himself from the banquet table. as he moves through the room, he pockets a silver case of freshly rolled cigarettes as well as an engraved flask of some rare sourmash whiskey ( cheers, E.J.N. ) — all while looking for the nearest exit. it's then that he sees autumn's commander, omar finnigan, slip out onto a balcony, the door well-concealed by several layers of draped tapestries. ren considers his options a moment, then makes his way through the labyrinth of tables and follows suit.
for some reason, ren often finds himself curious about omar's well-being. but reasons why he does anything are always deftly glossed over.
outside, he's expecting to feel cold air, but enchantments keep the balcony suffocatingly warm. the third lets out a disappointed "tch" when he realizes. after working those soldiers free of the tesserae in their pockets, the bracing night air would have been a nice reward.
"commander," he mumbles around the cigarette in his teeth, sidling up behind the man and leaning his hips back against the balustrade. "don't tell me you're witholding those sick dance moves of yours from these haughty foreigners. that stale atmosphere in there could use a swift kick in the ass."
knowing omar's disposition, ren is obviously joking. but his delivery is dry, muted. perhaps difficult for one to discern the sarcasm.
