𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖊. the courtyard, among the many carriages waiting to take them to the ritual site. 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓. @rotfire's diya tripathi, a familiar stranger, his lady of jasmine letters.
he must needs remember to pick up his feet. of the many bad habits sylvain retained throughout his enchanted childhood, that infernal shuffling was the most persistent. he cannot remember why he started ⸻ perhaps the little idiot ( still him, he must remind himself ) thought it might make his movements more graceful ? all that ever resulted from his efforts were scuffed boots and bruised toes. no, tonight, his gait must be purposeful, solid. sylvain ought to project the stability and reliability he tried to inject into the written word. it would not do to trip on such unfamiliar ground.
and there were half a dozen other considerations lingering in sylvain's mind besides. among them, the exact degree he ought to bow, how to curl his mouth in a charming smile ( and not a maniac's toothy grin ), he must remember to speak softly but firmly, never forceful. this would not be the first time they've met ⸻ but neither would it be the first time sylvain has made a fool of himself before his lady. heavens above and hells below both that she never finds out just how many drafts he pens for even a single response. would that he could woo as well as he could joust.
sylvain starts to wonder if he may have outworn his welcome, hovering around the tripathi carriage when his own kelindorr waits for him so. an assortment of respectful nods and starkly avoided gazes fill the painstaking moments before, finally, he spots her ⸻ and then his heel catches on the foot iron. the moment is brief and sylvain is quick to pivot, but the noise, a dreadful clang against the steel of his boot… well. he's sure it could be heard throughout every corner of nocturnia. he does not wince. yet neither does he don his planned smile. something more mortified, an inch and some change into a grimace, works its way onto sylvain's face instead.
“ my ⸻ lady, ” he manages. were he taller, he might've tried to salvage the moment with a full kneel. as it is, his half-crouch proves an impressive display of the knight's sense of balance. at least his offered hand does not tremble; once her knuckles are pressed to his lips, sylvain will finally have a reason to feel hot in the face.
