psl; [i feel you, your rising sun]

[bodeful]

[Hubert gazes across the ballroom in the same way he assesses the tides of war.

He thinks he prefers blood and steel as opposed to orchestrated music, tailored garb and dresses trimmed with lace. In the midst of battle, he can judge more poignantly where dangers lie — the tip of a lance glinting in the sun, a line of archers nocking their arrows in synchronicity — and adjust his own actions accordingly. Here, everything is so much more… nebulous. He hates all manner of pomp and circumstance, the noblesse oblige never completely wrung out from this societal circle; even this remains untouched by sweeping reform thus far. Everyone makes it purposefully harder to ascertain intention. Never is the case when an enemy comes rushing forth with their sword at the ready, anger flashing in their eyes. That is a straightforward problem to tackle.

Yet Hubert still plays the game, still reads the room, as it were second nature. Can spy which nobles seek the company of those who might grant them a higher rung of influence on the ever-changing, post-war social ladder. Keeps Emperor Edelgard in the scope of his vision more often than not, creeping along the fringes of the Imperial Palace’s ballroom, until she herself makes her way over, strongly suggesting that he take a moment to himself to enjoy a dance or two. (And to stop hovering like a dread shade, making several attendees sweat nervously for fear of retribution due to some unknown offense.)

And so he humors her for now — planning on detaching himself just long enough to abate her exasperation — though he doesn’t linger in near the dance floor, too brimming with faux smiles and posh sentiments of this tastes. It’s easy enough to slip outdoors to the adjacent courtyard, where some of the celebrations have begun to eke out under a stung-up lamplight in the clear night, cordoned off from the rest of the outside world by a picturesque wall of rose bushes that remind him of the cultivated flora within the confines of the monastery.

Here, he can while away the time, undoubtedly looking intimidating and unapproachable in a corner. And he would delegate himself to doing just that, as talented as he is in it, were it not for a shock of orange-red hair nearby, belonging to a man whose company he had somehow lost track of within the first hour of this mandatory celebration.

Hubert pauses for a whole half-second before he strides forward, coming up to meet him. His greeting is less of a greeting than it is an action: reaching out to untangle a long strand of his hair that has caught itself up in the stem of rose leaves, the latter growing against a tall wooden lattice just behind him.

Disapprovingly-]

You should pay closer attention to your surroundings, else you come away with thorns in your hair.

Comments

[proclaiming]

[ For Ferdinand, the brightly lit ballroom is just as familiar as a battlefield is by now. Though he and his father never saw eye-to-eye, Ferdinand was never one to shirk his duties as the eldest son of a noble house – he embraced the role, fervently and with no amount of subtlety, in fact – which of course includes matters of socializing as much as it does war. So, while Hubert watches, skulking around the party and looming over Edelgard not unlike a vulture, Ferdinand instead makes himself useful by participating in the festivities.

He mingles, he chats, and if someone so chooses to ask him, he dances.

But even the most seasoned of nobles needs a moment to breathe, and when his most recent conversational partner takes her leave from their little stroll through the courtyard beyond the ballroom, he does not elect to return just yet. The night is cool and quiet, and the moment alone is quite welcome.

Welcome, though short-lived. If he did not know better, he would say Hubert materialized out of the shadows for as quietly as he approaches, plucking a strand of his hair away from an errant thorn, the loose ponytail he’s elected to wear for the evening doing nothing to keep it from getting snagged. Some might be unnerved by the other man’s sudden presence, but Ferdinand is used to it by now, and Hubert is a good friend, besides. ]

Ah, Hubert. Thank you. I did not realize…

[ A gloved hand reaches back to try and smooth out his rather unruly mane. He really should get it cut, but finding the time has proven difficult, and the others seem to like it, so… ]

I am surprised to see you out here. I thought you would be hovering around Edelgard like a thundercloud all night.