Profiled and Suckered
Pegasai sits at a table, in the corner, alone. He’s in a wonderful outfit, hand-stitched by Soli. His hair is braided, his appearance immaculate. Not a thread out of place, he looks like he belongs, he’s certain of it. If only he could stop fidgeting in the corner.
His table is lonely and forgotten. He pulls at his sleeves, straightening and re-laying them, focused on lining the stitching up just right. He fusses with a thinner braid, weaving and un-weaving and re-weaving it, convinced it doesn’t lay correctly. No one is looking his way, but he’s certain everyone is. A laugh is directed at him, a frown, a stare. He doesn’t belong here, and he’s sure everyone knows it. He wishes Soli would be here, even if the mer would be a nervous wreck. It’s a selfish wish, and he decides to forget it, to just make it through this wedding like the Madame wants.
It surprises him, then, when a well-dressed young gentleman sits down across from him. He smiles and offers a greeting, a “Hello, there, I saw you might need some company,” and Pegasai smiles back, relieved. If there’s just one person who he can speak to, he can focus on them and forget the rest of the wedding party.
“Thank you, that’s very kind of you.” Pegasai hopes he won’t run out of things to talk about.
As it so happens, the man, a noble, he discovers, is easy to talk to. This may be because he tends to talk quite easily and at length of himself, but he accepts Pegasai’s devoted listening ear and gently probing questions. He asks the Bosmer questions, as well; if he is enjoying himself, has he tried the food, what does he think of the bride and groom. Pegasai’s nervousness ebbs away.
He doesn’t really notice that somehow the man had been edging closer to him, not until their knees accidentally bump. Pegasai murmurs an apology; the noble smiles and says it’s no bother. His voice has dropped in octave, as well, so even the mer’s sharp ears need help with a bit of leaning in. He figures it’s just so no one will overhear.
“Has your time been bought for the evening?”
Pegasai’s eyes round in surprise, and then quickly that vanishes, too well-trained to let a slip be seen for long. Perhaps he misheard. “Ah, excuse me, sir?” He tugs at his cuffs. Sir. The noble hadn’t told him his name.
“You came with the Madame Sontaire, yes?” He’s looking eager, now. Pegasai knows that look.
“…I did.”
“And no one else has engaged you for the evening?”
Pegasai swallows. “No, no one has.” At least this is familiar. He knows the steps to this. He resists the urge to tug on a braid again.
The noble cups his cheek, and Pegasai smiles when he feels like flinching. “How much, then?”
A price is quoted. The man doesn’t even blink, before slipping a hand in Pegasai’s and motioning for him to follow. This feels wrong; perhaps Sontaire will be angry at him for working at a wedding. But perhaps she’ll be pleased, since he’d lost customers recently.
No, this is good. No one will miss him. No one had seemed to even notice he was there, at all. At least this nameless noble can see what he’s good at. That doesn’t stop him from giving one desperate look at the crowd, caught in the desire for a way out before this escalates.