The Hyur fidgeted upon the plush velvet seat. He was careful not to crinkle the wax-sealed letter he held in his hands, and extra caution was made not to lean against the gold leaf ornamentation on the pillow that rubbed against his back. A cursory inspection of the room revealed that the interior decor straddled the line between "fine" and "gaudy". It was within the territory of individuals who had far more wealth than they knew what to do with, individuals who made changes to their houses more out of a whim than any desire for aesthetics, and the obnoxiously clashing colour scheme of the lounge reflected that.
Dark aquamarine lines of exquisite mythrite had been hammered in between the smooth marble tiles, glittering with the light that was reflected from the white gold lamps that adorned the floral-patterned walls that had been meticulously papered in violet silk. The ostentatious presentation of the room contrasted heavily with the fact that the only piece of furniture in the generously-sized chamber--which was large enough to host a respectable soiree--was the emerald-coloured couch of velvet that the Hyur squired upon.
No windows allowed the intrusion of sunlight, no rugs or tapestry-style carpeting depicting the Azure Dragoon fighting against the floor, no clocks ticked obnoxiously away at their intervals, no portraits of respected ancestors decorated the walls, no busts of Ser Whatever-Or-Something or Lord Obtuse-Name to commemorate Grandiose-Battle-That-Happened-In-Antiquity-Against-Some-Foe-Or-Other glared arrogantly at him from the stands, and perhaps most disappointingly, no suspiciously phallic icons or idols of the Fury's spears that was indicative of typical Ishgardian overcompensation.
It was simultaneously the most extravagant room Constantin Theron had ever occupied, and the ugliest.
He glanced nervously at the polished mahogany door that sat at his left, his flickering gaze nervous and unsteady, as if he were expecting a dragon's roar to blast the unfortunate implement off of its hinges. The Hyur's eyes darted from the door to the wax seal of the Theron kingfisher that adorned the letter in his hands. He'd lost track of how long he'd been forced to wait here--the lady knight had tersely said that the Marquis would meet him "on his own time"--and to say that his anxiety had been steadily growing would be to say that a castrum was an inappropriate place to have a picnic.
Though, maybe Garleans did have picnics in castrums.
Constantin jumped in his seat as the door next to him swung open, the hinges squeaking ominously. Emerging from the doorway was a tall, platinum-haired Elezen female, dressed from the neck down in elaborate silver plate armour, of the standard type worn among the Temple Knights. Gray eyes flashed equal parts amusement and disdain as she folded her arms, idly brushing flaxen shoulder-length locks away from her face.
"The Marquis will see you now," the Elezen said in a tone that was half seductive and half murderous. Constantin was perhaps too rattled to make the distinction as he nodded, standing up abruptly. The Elezen seemed to note his discomfort, a smirk splitting across her face. "Does the decor make you uncomfortable, my lord?"
"I-I'll admit that it lacks that, ah, certain je ne sais quoi. But it's very...elegant! My regards to your decorator's...choice of colours."
Red walls, white floor with blue lining, and a green couch. Even the colour-blind would be offended.
The Elezen knight's smirk widened ever so slightly. "As you say. This way." She turned into the hallway, waving as an indication for him to follow. Constantin swallowed so as to gather his bravery and did so.
The hallway too was a veritable garish nightmare, festooned with any number of obtuse decorations. Deep purple walls clashed with the bright orange planks of polished yew wood. Numerous paintings lined the walls, the subjects so absurd and outlandish that the Hyur noble could only assume that they were part of some psychological attack meant to unnerve the Marquis' guests before he spoke to them. One was of a deer that possessed a woman's face drawn on its snout, a small man wielding a sword there times his size and sporting what looked like ahriman wings, and one particularly offensive piece of what was allegedly supposed to be a female dragoon undressing and exhibiting a prominent--
"I don't suppose you know what gender that...person is supposed to be?" Constantin could not help but comment aloud, though almost immediately he felt the sting of his teeth biting his tongue.
"My lord Marquis enjoys the message of ambiguity it sends. You're not supposed to know what gender they are."
"And the tail?"
"It's part of the mystery," the Elezen responded idly, sighing and shrugging her shoulders. "I advise you not to ask him to justify his tastes. Some questions are better left unanswered."
"A-ah. I see," Constantin said in a small voice, averting his eyes and desperately looking to change the subject. "Is...there a reason he refers to himself as 'Marquis'?"
"He styles himself as being above a Count. It's his little arrogance," the knight waved an armoured hand.
"Would a duke not be--"
"There are no Ishgardian dukes," the Elezen snapped, and Constantin nodded hastily in agreement and said little more as the pair came upon another mahogany door. The Hyur clutched his letter a little more tightly.
She knocked upon the door, though she did not wait for a response before swinging it open. However, almost immediately, she closed it, before glaring at the Hyur.
"You do remember my lord's passphrases, yes?" A steely gaze pierced through the tuft of platinum hair that had fallen in front of her face. Constantin gulped and nodded. "And remember to omit the second line. Just move on to the third, lest you put him in a foul mood." Another meek nod.
The Elezen swung opened the door and stepped inside. A tall individual was within, staring out the high window of the office. The knight bowed.
"Marquis, another supplicant wishes to contribute to the redemption..."
Dark aquamarine lines of exquisite mythrite had been hammered in between the smooth marble tiles, glittering with the light that was reflected from the white gold lamps that adorned the floral-patterned walls that had been meticulously papered in violet silk. The ostentatious presentation of the room contrasted heavily with the fact that the only piece of furniture in the generously-sized chamber--which was large enough to host a respectable soiree--was the emerald-coloured couch of velvet that the Hyur squired upon.
No windows allowed the intrusion of sunlight, no rugs or tapestry-style carpeting depicting the Azure Dragoon fighting against the floor, no clocks ticked obnoxiously away at their intervals, no portraits of respected ancestors decorated the walls, no busts of Ser Whatever-Or-Something or Lord Obtuse-Name to commemorate Grandiose-Battle-That-Happened-In-Antiquity-Against-Some-Foe-Or-Other glared arrogantly at him from the stands, and perhaps most disappointingly, no suspiciously phallic icons or idols of the Fury's spears that was indicative of typical Ishgardian overcompensation.
It was simultaneously the most extravagant room Constantin Theron had ever occupied, and the ugliest.
He glanced nervously at the polished mahogany door that sat at his left, his flickering gaze nervous and unsteady, as if he were expecting a dragon's roar to blast the unfortunate implement off of its hinges. The Hyur's eyes darted from the door to the wax seal of the Theron kingfisher that adorned the letter in his hands. He'd lost track of how long he'd been forced to wait here--the lady knight had tersely said that the Marquis would meet him "on his own time"--and to say that his anxiety had been steadily growing would be to say that a castrum was an inappropriate place to have a picnic.
Though, maybe Garleans did have picnics in castrums.
Constantin jumped in his seat as the door next to him swung open, the hinges squeaking ominously. Emerging from the doorway was a tall, platinum-haired Elezen female, dressed from the neck down in elaborate silver plate armour, of the standard type worn among the Temple Knights. Gray eyes flashed equal parts amusement and disdain as she folded her arms, idly brushing flaxen shoulder-length locks away from her face.
"The Marquis will see you now," the Elezen said in a tone that was half seductive and half murderous. Constantin was perhaps too rattled to make the distinction as he nodded, standing up abruptly. The Elezen seemed to note his discomfort, a smirk splitting across her face. "Does the decor make you uncomfortable, my lord?"
"I-I'll admit that it lacks that, ah, certain je ne sais quoi. But it's very...elegant! My regards to your decorator's...choice of colours."
Red walls, white floor with blue lining, and a green couch. Even the colour-blind would be offended.
The Elezen knight's smirk widened ever so slightly. "As you say. This way." She turned into the hallway, waving as an indication for him to follow. Constantin swallowed so as to gather his bravery and did so.
The hallway too was a veritable garish nightmare, festooned with any number of obtuse decorations. Deep purple walls clashed with the bright orange planks of polished yew wood. Numerous paintings lined the walls, the subjects so absurd and outlandish that the Hyur noble could only assume that they were part of some psychological attack meant to unnerve the Marquis' guests before he spoke to them. One was of a deer that possessed a woman's face drawn on its snout, a small man wielding a sword there times his size and sporting what looked like ahriman wings, and one particularly offensive piece of what was allegedly supposed to be a female dragoon undressing and exhibiting a prominent--
"I don't suppose you know what gender that...person is supposed to be?" Constantin could not help but comment aloud, though almost immediately he felt the sting of his teeth biting his tongue.
"My lord Marquis enjoys the message of ambiguity it sends. You're not supposed to know what gender they are."
"And the tail?"
"It's part of the mystery," the Elezen responded idly, sighing and shrugging her shoulders. "I advise you not to ask him to justify his tastes. Some questions are better left unanswered."
"A-ah. I see," Constantin said in a small voice, averting his eyes and desperately looking to change the subject. "Is...there a reason he refers to himself as 'Marquis'?"
"He styles himself as being above a Count. It's his little arrogance," the knight waved an armoured hand.
"Would a duke not be--"
"There are no Ishgardian dukes," the Elezen snapped, and Constantin nodded hastily in agreement and said little more as the pair came upon another mahogany door. The Hyur clutched his letter a little more tightly.
She knocked upon the door, though she did not wait for a response before swinging it open. However, almost immediately, she closed it, before glaring at the Hyur.
"You do remember my lord's passphrases, yes?" A steely gaze pierced through the tuft of platinum hair that had fallen in front of her face. Constantin gulped and nodded. "And remember to omit the second line. Just move on to the third, lest you put him in a foul mood." Another meek nod.
The Elezen swung opened the door and stepped inside. A tall individual was within, staring out the high window of the office. The knight bowed.
"Marquis, another supplicant wishes to contribute to the redemption..."
