fluffiest_archadian | [OOM] The Amondsham-Telane Wedding.

[OOM] The Amondsham-Telane Wedding.

It is a sorry bunch attending this wedding. The hall in Rabanastre palace where they sit is small, and there are still a handful of empty seats. Still, it's easy to tell who's who:

The garrison command, headed by a grey-haired man who gives off a grandfatherly aura, in their grey and red formal dress, along with a man and a woman dressed similarly, save that their uniform is black and charcoal with red highlights. There's a handful of soldiers who clearly aren't Archadian, too, dressed in blue and cream.

Rabanastre's merchants, dressed in a brightly coloured mismatch of patterned fabrics with hair styled elaborately and jewellery on their wrists and around their necks.

Nobles and ambassadors, by far the smallest of the group, in coloured (but not quite so neon rainbow) silk and wool. Several of them have fans. Most of them are muttering about how Liana is marrying beneath her station (and one so old). One family of four, dressed in canary yellow cloaks fashioned to look like feathers, just look charmed to be there, bar one young man who looks like he's trying to sink into his clothes and avoid the gaze of the garrison.

Business associates of the groom, who if the muttering from others is anything to go by may be celebrities. A few of them are jolly, older people, but most of them look like supermodels who have just stepped off the catwalk.

The wedding is - awkward. A man in very smart clothing with very shiny glasses runs through a set of vows, while the groom (whose shapeless robes really only accentuate the fact that he's about twenty years the senior of his bride) looks apathetic and the bride (of far more fashionable dress) looks distantly scathing, as if she's biting back about a hundred sarcastic comments.

When they are told they may kiss, the peck each other. On the cheeks. Like seagulls whose hearts aren't quite in it.

---

The reception takes place in Rabanastre Palace's expansive ballroom, a room that is opulent and glittering and has walls lined with frescoes depicting the glorious history of Dalmasca in charmingly abstract style.

There is a buffet. It has something very much like turkish delight on one end, but the yellow-cloaked family are converging on it and soon this won't be the case.

Sherral leads his visitors in with the garrison command and their guests.

"No stealing from anyone, no letting on about the magical bar, no killing anyone outside of mutually agreed upon duels," Sherral says. "Apart from that, enjoy yourself. If you see a security concern, Captain Beor," he gestures over at a large man in his twenties, "will no doubt be happy to hear of it."

Beat.

"Have fun."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Moist pouts at being told he can't steal but doesn't complain as weddings are always good places to people watch and find various opportunities.

It really isn't long before Sherral manages to direct some people over to him.

Specifically, a pair of noblemen, one of whom looks remarkably like a fox, right down to red hair, and the other one of which looks like a bulldog collided with an airship.

"So, I hear you're in finance?" Foxface says.

He considers them and puts on a smile, "Yes, I'm always looking for new ways to invest better."

Somewhere far behind them, Sherral subtly mimes a movement that somehow very obviously means 'They were trying to talk to me about the economy and it made me want to die, they're your problem now, I owe you one.' Which is quite a complicated message for mime.

"Oh, that is wonderful to hear," Foxface says, reaching forward to touch Moist's arm, much to the mild distaste of his companion. "I swear, half of these people don't even understand how money works. I tried talking to the garrison commanders and they looked at me like I'd grown a second head."

Sherral is fascinating to watch and Moist shakes his head sympathetically,

"No, I've found most people want the money to be there and not have to know too much about how it arrived."

"I work the stock markets, myself," Foxface says, with a tone of voice that says that everyone should be very impressed by this. "It's cutthroat, I tell you. Absolutely cutthroat," his hand is still situated on Moist's arm, "you have to be a shark to survive in that kind of world. Always on the move. Predatory."

"Yes, you do, but I enjoy the challenge of surviving,"

He shifts towards the one with his hand on his arm.

Crushed-Bulldog-Face makes a noise that sounds like weary disgust. Foxface ignores him completely.

"We should get a drink. Have you tried the wine?" Foxface says. "It's from the bride's vineyards. A very fine red, if I do say so."

"Not yet, I'd love to try it and you can tell me of all your fascinating work,"

Then he turns his most dazzling smile on them both.

Said smile apparently reminds Foxface of his companion, as he turns a slightly exasperated stare on the other man. "I do believe you've not paid your respects to the groom, man. Be off with you."

He doesn't really wait for a response before guiding Moist to a servant with wine, taking two glasses off. "Be sure to savour it."

"I will," He picks up the glass and swirls it, taking his time before sipping.

"So, where do you work? Tell me about you."

"Me, I'm not that interesting. A clerk trying to do well enough to only have to work when I want to."

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