A Sunny Day in Orlais [OPEN]

And here came trouble. Thank the spirits for that.

No sooner had the Chevalier approached and impeded upon what was bound to be a dull, pointless day than the halfbreed found a wide smile splitting his face. At last! Someone who didn't mind cutting straight to the damn point, as much as they could. Aurelius sized up the stranger slowly, gleaming eyes tracing his figure as he approached. He eyed the bottle slowly, a large hand, larger than those found often in Orlais, plucked it up. He took a sniff of the contents, the bitter and acrid scent of true alcohol curling his nose hairs. A soft chuckle, and he took a swig, with the practiced ease that suggested Aurelius had been drinking long before anyone should have. The taste of whiskey and honey flowed easily down his throat in a slow chug, before the duelist placed the bottle back on the table with a thump.

If he'd opened his mouth a moment sooner, the Rivaini would've breathed dragonfire. "Relish is a generous term for tolerate with moderate disdain," He replied smoothly, though the alcohol left his tongue burning happily in it's wake, "but you have my thanks for drastically improving it, messere." He sounded like a lizard speaking Nevarran, with his blatant lack of fluency. True, he could speak Orlesian with the best of them, but that accent of the north, that voice that carried the mysteries of realms beyond the kingdoms this land knew of, remained. He pushed the bottle back towards the man, Aurelius' unique orbs tracing him again. Broad shoulders, strong back, little fear before the sprawl of scruff crossing his cheeks. This was not some gentle, spoiled soul of the court. If it was, the wear and tear of a more active life had long since covered the blemishes of privilege and boyhood. The grey peppering his whiskers made that evident enough, but it was the cut of the man, the way he swaggered and sat, as if he clacked a care in the world, that gave everything away. 

"If you're referring to my wardrobe," Aurelius continued, still congenial, but happy to be more blunt, "I'm afraid it's as likely to change as the order of the seasons. You southerners may relish your colors, but I certainly can't say they'd earn me more looks. As we can see," he said, gloved fingers gesturing around them to a few lingering gazes, "my chosen palette, or lack thereof, is what truly captures their attention." His focus returned to the Chevalier, with all the warmth of a dragon finding food already waiting to be eaten in it's den. "Aurelius, messere. And you are?"