[ Ryoma was known for many things—his calm demeanor, his ferocity in battle, his unique choice of armaments—but there'd yet to be a man that could have truthfully accused him of being a coward... though the argument could be said to hold more weight, today.
(Nohrian weddings were, to put it kindly and with as little judgement as possible lest one sound hypocritical, grandiose spectacles with a strange sobriety about them. There was a constant feeling of being measured despite the general concession that this was a 'celebration' attended in the name of peace, unity, and few terms better suited for political cloak-and-dagger operations that Ryoma couldn't dwell on too deeply, lest it show on his face overmuch. He was already stern enough as it was.)
Despite it all—the hours of socializing, the moments of actual pleasantries half-cut with silver-tongued double entendre, the exceedingly uncomfortable clothes—Ryoma had acquit himself with more than enough grace, dignity, and quiet charm to last an age... and as such, he was perfectly justified in breaking away from the party for bit of fresh air. He'd excused himself, navigating quietly through half-memorized corridors in relative peace, glad for the time alone... inasmuch as he was ever alone. A familiar (albeit well-dressed and mildly harassed, given the circumstances) shadow kept in time, steps silent as Ryoma tried to remember which way led to a door or a courtyard or. Something with a relative lack of people. ]
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timeasmymeasure
yes hello this is lobster here for s e c r e t s
Date: 2018-02-01 04:52 am (UTC)(Nohrian weddings were, to put it kindly and with as little judgement as possible lest one sound hypocritical, grandiose spectacles with a strange sobriety about them. There was a constant feeling of being measured despite the general concession that this was a 'celebration' attended in the name of peace, unity, and few terms better suited for political cloak-and-dagger operations that Ryoma couldn't dwell on too deeply, lest it show on his face overmuch. He was already stern enough as it was.)
Despite it all—the hours of socializing, the moments of actual pleasantries half-cut with silver-tongued double entendre, the exceedingly uncomfortable clothes—Ryoma had acquit himself with more than enough grace, dignity, and quiet charm to last an age... and as such, he was perfectly justified in breaking away from the party for bit of fresh air. He'd excused himself, navigating quietly through half-memorized corridors in relative peace, glad for the time alone... inasmuch as he was ever alone. A familiar (albeit well-dressed and mildly harassed, given the circumstances) shadow kept in time, steps silent as Ryoma tried to remember which way led to a door or a courtyard or. Something with a relative lack of people. ]