[ the fact that teia has a collection of tiaras does not surprise him, though he does have a fun time as they move into the restaurant (toward their favorite outdoor table, as teia requested) envisioning her collection. only the maker knows how much she spent on them. in comparison, his wardrobe is practically barren, though he never sacrifices in quality.
image is important. he just has to strike a very different image than teia does. and, perhaps, teia just loves getting dressed up more than he does.
he settles into his chair comfortably after pulling out the chair for teia out of habit, unbuttoning his jacket as he does so. there is a natural unease as their host pours them water, his eyes flickering to the liquid once as he sets his walking stick to lean against the table. he loathes eating out. it was a lack of control that always set him on edge, but this was the one thing that he refused to sacrifice. teia deserved better than always eating in, neurotically screening every single molecule for poison.
the menu is carefully curated. his eyes scan the menu briefly, relieved to see that the options present were what he prepared for, in terms of testing. after scanning the table once (no odd sheens on the tablecloth, no powders or spilled liquids, everything imacculate), viago decides he can relax. sort of.
a small vial of clear liquid appears out of nowhere (his sleeve, perhaps), and he answers teia's inquiry as he drops a single drop into each of their glasses. whatever it is, viago seems pleased with the reaction -- the water looks the same as it was when it was poured. ]
The Antaam have been driven off my doorstep. [ mildly, though he doesn't go into much more detail than that; you never know who might be listening, after all. ] Emil bit a new recruit, which provided a satisfying lesson in not touching my things for the fledglings present.
[ he takes a sip of his water, swallowing it before exhaling slowly. he can relax. this thrum of anxiety was stupid. he had already tested the water, and the meal was going to be fine. and, realizing he didn't finish his story, he adds, seemingly unbothered: ]
no subject
image is important. he just has to strike a very different image than teia does. and, perhaps, teia just loves getting dressed up more than he does.
he settles into his chair comfortably after pulling out the chair for teia out of habit, unbuttoning his jacket as he does so. there is a natural unease as their host pours them water, his eyes flickering to the liquid once as he sets his walking stick to lean against the table. he loathes eating out. it was a lack of control that always set him on edge, but this was the one thing that he refused to sacrifice. teia deserved better than always eating in, neurotically screening every single molecule for poison.
the menu is carefully curated. his eyes scan the menu briefly, relieved to see that the options present were what he prepared for, in terms of testing. after scanning the table once (no odd sheens on the tablecloth, no powders or spilled liquids, everything imacculate), viago decides he can relax. sort of.
a small vial of clear liquid appears out of nowhere (his sleeve, perhaps), and he answers teia's inquiry as he drops a single drop into each of their glasses. whatever it is, viago seems pleased with the reaction -- the water looks the same as it was when it was poured. ]
The Antaam have been driven off my doorstep. [ mildly, though he doesn't go into much more detail than that; you never know who might be listening, after all. ] Emil bit a new recruit, which provided a satisfying lesson in not touching my things for the fledglings present.
[ he takes a sip of his water, swallowing it before exhaling slowly. he can relax. this thrum of anxiety was stupid. he had already tested the water, and the meal was going to be fine. and, realizing he didn't finish his story, he adds, seemingly unbothered: ]
The recruit lived.
[ barely. he would be fine. ]