perfectteatime | Amani Inbox

Indeed it was Emet-Selch's turn for the date, and he had put some thought into this. Not merely thought, but true sentiment and if one would be so bold...no, he would not name it that. Much too soon, it had only been a couple of moons since they had even met, and while he cannot deny the magnetic way he feels pulled to Byleth, he would be a fool to so carelessly mishandle his feelings. Utterly irresponsible, really.

So thought and sentiment, that is what he has put into this. Nothing more.

Having sent Byleth a message to indicate his arrival at Byleth's home, he will likewise be greeted by the sight of Emet-Selch dressed in an unfamiliar outfit. Certainly one that fits his Amaurotine heritage, no doubt, but it is not quite the communal robes in which he ordinarily dons. He also stands besides a large beast of sorts, as still and poised as it is intimidating. He certainly had given Byleth instructions to dress nice for this, but not much else, hopefully whatever he's chosen to wear will accommodate riding on the back of this beast.

Yeah that works, what would you like to do for a date? I'm really not picky at all.

Byleth had been preparing a little surprise of his own. He isn't expecting though, to see Emet decked out in such ornate garb when he opens the door. Nor dos he expect the mount standing there behind him. He gives of course, his customarily muted greeting, but it's clear he's delighted, and he leans forward to give the man a kiss on the cheek.

"You look quite beautiful." He takes a moment more to take this in, and then-

"Hold. Close your eyes just briefly, would you?" He asks, making sure to wait until the man complies, before scuttling back into his house for a quick minute. When he returns, he clears his throat. "All right, you may look now."

He did in fact, decide to wear something special for this. Clearly of hand make, he carefully stitched his own robes, according to a few references he had obtained from some of the books in Emet's possession. As well as a little mask of his own. It's all very plain as far as Ascian standards, Byleth thought better than to try to go with anything too outside of the norm.

Either way, he lifts his hands in a vague little 'ta-daa' gesture.

Mmmm. I want to know more about you. So do you... have a favorite hobby?

First, the kiss and then the compliment about him being beautiful is met with a dismissive roll of his eyes. Not that he doesn't appreciate the compliment on some level, but please. He is nothing special to look at, he's no Hythlodaeus, after all.

Next, he does indeed close his eyes as Byleth requests, and for a moment he considers using his soul sight to peek—but decides against it. For one, it might not even work depending on the nature of this surprise, and for two, it's only fair Byleth is allowed to surprise him as well.

When he opens his eyes, it is clear how unexpected this is by how he openly gawks. The robe—the mask—all of it is so poorly made! But it is so clearly made with thought and affection, and he can feel his old heart flutter with warmth.

Yet, regardless of how much he appreciates the gesture, and how truly touched he is about it, the...flaws in the garmet and the—is the mask winking at him? Was that intentional? Did Byleth attempt to make the mask flirtatious?

"Oh, this is so...quaint and charming. That you would do this, don the communal robes and mask. How long did you labor over this?" As he asks, he approaches, gently touching the robe, it taking every bit of his self restraint from fixing the inaccuracies. Likewise that curious hand gently caresses the mask, and his mind yells for him to fix it, but he restrains himself.

For now, at least.

It's a good reaction, he thinks. He'll take it. The fact that Emet seems so utterly taken by the effort is what matters.

"All week." Byleth's answer is true. He is certainly no auteur of any sort of creative endeavor, he did this as he does everything- with love, with maximum effort, and with intent. He thinks that though it may lie far from perfection, the merit of it will stand.

"I thought perhaps... you might be able to help me smooth out some of the mistakes? If you'd like. I am content with it, but- well." Well, by now, he is coming to know the man, and his habit of fussing about small details. This does not bother him, in fact, it has become one of his endearing features. Something that makes him distinctly... him.

"I hope I got the main bits right."

"It would be my pleasure."

That request is equivalent to the single load-bearing pebble holding back a flood finally being forced free, the torrent of water bursting forth unmitigated, uncontrolled. That he worked all week on it is so touching and does nothing to stop Emet-Selch as he touches each part again, fixing the inaccuracies with fussy aetheric manipulation.

Look, it was very charming, but he thinks Byleth deserves dignity, and there wasn't anything dignified about that robe! It was the clothing equivalent to a child's drawing, and the initial surprise of it has already served its purpose! He still loves that Byleth made it, that Byleth would embrace his culture in such a way, even if it was making a shoddy version of their traditional garb.

That any would show interest in his people and the world he loves means more to him than he cares to say.

"Considering what you were working with, likely memory alone, I would say you did rather well. Particularly if you are not much of a seamster ordinarily." The way he speaks, there's an ease to his voice that isn't normally there. A lightness which seems almost uncharacteristic. Does he sound...happy?

"But come, as much as it is riveting to stand in your front lawn, this is hardly the place for our outing. I trust you know how to ride a mount, yes?" With the question asked, he looks to Grani to emphasize it. The intimidating creature's dimly glowing white, pupilless eyes stare directly at Byleth. It's hard to tell if that stare is merely curiosity, or a challenge, but besides the deep and measured breaths it takes, it is silent.

He manages to suppress a laugh as Emet fixes his clothes. Something he is starting to get a bead on now, his attention to detail. He suspects he impressed all the same, which is what matters. Especially hearing that change in tone. He does a little spin to display the now perfect garb, and examine the new, finer details himself.

"Yes, we have a lot to do tonight." The date, and what's to come after- also prepared in a small satchel at his side. He peers past Emet at the mount, before nodding to him. "Yes. I was a fairly experienced rider, both on horseback and wyvern." He's selling himself a bit short, given his chosen class was wyvern lord. Still, now isn't the time for boasting. He moves toward Grani, holding out his hand amicably in case it wants to get his scent.

"Hello there. Aren't you a regal creature?" He seems not at all bothered by the appearance. He's grown so used to the severity of the strangeness here, everything and nothing is expected. "Does it have a name?"

He resists his urge to pat it, not yet sure if it would be amicable to that... but oh he does love all manner of creatures.

Emet-Selch is so needlessly detail oriented it borders on obsessive. So while he absolutely appreciates and is impressed by Byleth's most sentimental surprise, he cannot help himself but fuss about it all the same. It comes from a good place, and in the end he cannot help but be himself.

He doesn't comment on the spin, though. Mainly because part of him wants to complain about the vanity that goes into such a twirl, but the other part of him appreciates it all the same. Thus he chooses to merely watch him with amusement.

The mention of being an experienced wyvern rider further amuses Emet-Selch. Perhaps a touch more than it should, if only because the idea of a wyvern and a horse occupying the same category of being a mount is...well, the wyverns he knows of are not merely beasts of burden. They are more his equal than the mortals he was in strife with. Well does he know each world has different laws of reality and classification, but he cannot help but be amused all the same.

"I see, well, I would certainly say he's a bit like riding both at once. Particularly when he takes to the air."

As Byleth draws nearer, holding out his hand to be sniffed, Grani stays in his proper stance, otherwise unmoving—until Emet-Selch gives him a nod. The large beast then leans forward to take an inquisitive sniff of Byleth, before standing once more in that proud and poised stance.

Perhaps he's preening at being called regal? It's hard to tell with a creature with such a static face as he has.

"Grani is his name," Emet-Selch answers as he approaches. As he does, Grani lowers himself into a kneel, so too lowering his head, "he was one of my very first concepts. One of my familiars."

With that, he effortlessly mounts him, settling on the saddle, before offering Byleth his hand to take.

"Well met, Grani. You're very cute." He does take a moment now to pat the creature's head gently. Cute or no... Byleth seems convinced that his statement is fact. He then accepts the hand up and seats himself against Emet.

"You made him? He's lovely. I've never seen anything like him before." For what it's worth, Byleth was telling the truth, he sits rather comfortably and with a sense of familiarity and ease that only a very experienced rider would have.

That doesn't stop him leaning back into Emet though, taking a moment to bask in contact and closeness, as he always does.

"For a while I considered having my wyvern here, but now that I can fly myself, it would be redundant. That aside, Beef Stew deserves her rest after everything she faced with me."

Yes, he named her that.

Well I mean...I like baking and the pottery studio and training....I don't really know what else I like. What do you like Byleth?

Well... I do like training too- maybe we could have a sparring day?

The unemotive lizard of a horse gives no reaction to the compliment. Perhaps he appreciates it, perhaps not. Only time will tell. Same goes for the pat, since there's no leaning into the hand, nor shying away. Still as a statue, this one.

"I did, aye. He is a bit telling in ways, I suppose." Of his tastes, he means. He certainly has an obvious bias towards more dark and spooky looking creatures. Just lil fucked up looking guys. He likes 'em a lil scary, but still with a regal and commanding air.

Feeling Byleth against him is a little distracting, enough to bring some warmth to his face, and so he nearly doesn't catch the Wyvern's name. When he does, he pauses as he grabs the reins.

"Beef Stew?" The way he says it is so forceful it's like he's expelling the words with the equivalent force of his disbelief at the name.

"Mayhap she does deserve a rest from hearing that name alone."

It is telling. Dark and spooky but still a little bit cute, just like his owner. Byleth knows better than to voice that at the moment though. The comment about his wyvern's name earns a soft, awkward little laugh. The sound still yet unpracticed. Like a hiccupping inhale of air.

"Maybe so. I was never great at naming things, but she seemed happy enough. The night she was assigned to me she ate a whole pot of the stuff while I was turned around for just a moment. It seemed fitting at the time." Ahh yes, Byleth. Naming things after things and activities they like. He'd probably get along with the lopporits in that regard.

Unconsciously he slips a hand down to rest on Emet's thigh as the man takes the reigns and prepares to see them off.

As much as he appreciates the laugh and the origin of the name, that hand on his thigh does a pretty decent job in distracting him from both. He attempts to force his mind back to the conversation as he directs Grani to start on their journey.

"Do you normally name things after their favored meal?" He tries to keep his voice measured and unaffected by the hand on his thigh, but between the swell of emotion he feels about the robes, and the proximity of Byleth in multiple ways already has him plenty affected. It's shameful, really, how easily this seems to happen with Byleth.

After a moment, however, he prompts Grani to rise into the air, an easy feat with how the creature is now bounding in speed. A single leap lifts them, and from its caparison does those silk sashes billow and blow outwardly, lengthening to almost absurdly as they do. He levitates with ease, wind lifting them as he carries them through the air towards their destination.

"Hm, you know I never thought about that. Not everything, but a great many things." He blinks up at Emet owlishly at the realization. "I guess I really am often thinking of food. It's one of life's greatest pleasures."

His thought is interrupted as they take off, and he watches with mild awe as the sashes flow in the wind around them. This man is always full of surprises, novelty, the new and interesting, and Byleth loves that. The hand on his thigh squeezes unconsciously as they lift off. He's used to being in the driver's seat, so to speak, so it is a bit strange to be flying with someone else. He eases back into his relaxed and muted jovial state as they go.

"So you made Grani all by yourself? It's incredible to think about- just drawing something into being. A new animal, entirely unique. I wonder what sorts of things I would make if I had that kind of ability... maybe I'd make a great big cat to ride on."

That...hand.

He tries to ignore it, because he really ought to be keeping his head clear with what he intends to do on this little date, but it's proving rather difficult. To think something so simple could make him feel this way, even after an eternity...

"I did, aye. My people are responsible for nearly all life on our star, big or small, weak or powerful. I made Grani as a child, and improve him as I better learned to manipulate aether." So he says, but he had a natural born talent for it, really.

"It was our duty to fill it with varied and beneficial species that would perpetuate and preserve its ecological structures. We achieved this through our study and practice of creation magicks, taking great pride in our work and dedication to the care of our world." The way he speaks certainly emphasizes that pride and love. Not only for his people, but for his world, for the star they worked so hard on to make a blossoming paradise for all to enjoy and thrive. Yet there's a tinge of something to his voice, a sadness that weighs the words down, a longing that grips each syllable as if the moment the sound end, so too would that which he speaks of.

"If my creation magic worked as it should, I could make you that cat by extension of your imaginings. Alas, this poor excuse of a world cannot adequately compensate for such ability, and so I must use stamps to slowly unlock aught that is too complex."

Perhaps he might keep that idea in his mind, should he have a few spare stamps sitting around. He can't imagine unlocking the ability to make a cat for Byleth to ride would be too expensive, and with Byleth likely being his partner in getting those stamps, it's...well, he's already done his part to earn it.

He's doing it on purpose. Just an innocent hand sitting there, thumb moving idly up and down. A very basic affection.

"That's incredible. For everyone to have a place in creating their world. It really does sound like a beautiful place whenever you talk about it. I wish there were some way I could have seen it." He hums to himself in thought, touching a finger to his chin just briefly. "You're already really powerful even here, I can't imagine what it must be like to be at your full potential. Stamps will do. I have to admit- they're fairly fun to obtain, anyways."

He pulls his robes a bit tighter against the wind. He does take a moment to quietly appreciate the atmosphere up here. It is romantic, and he does like the idea of having such a peaceful night out, and then a very peaceful night in after.

To have his curiosity and desire sated in the same evening is an occasion to delight in.

Oh there is nothing innocent about that thumb movement! The sharp intake of breath is the first outward sign that its affecting him, but he forces himself to act normal. He's just going to focus on the conversation, their destination is within sight, anyway, he will only have to weather that pesky hand a little longer...

"It was a paradise." His tone is still settled in that lower register. "I believe you would have liked it. I believe most would. It was not without its flaws, but that is in part what made it perfect."

A seeming contradiction, but it isn't. Not to him. For all his people had their little trivialities and flaws, they ever strove towards a brighter future, one where all might live in that continued harmony, where their contributions, regardless of how small, mattered. Where life was cherished, discovery valued, and creation celebrated. Autonomy was paramount, and such freedom could be trusted.

That cannot be said for mortals, as he has seen time and time again. A grim thought, unwelcome with such a beautiful and romantic view of the city. Sometimes this world makes it easy to forget that it's all a fiction, especially when he has such wonderful company.

"It is strange, I admit, being limited in this way. Not that I am one to eschew restraint, nor one to flaunt power needlessly as that is utterly irresponsible, however having such an innate ability moderated as it is feels unnatural." He sighs and shrugs, there isn't much to be done about it beyond what's been stated.

"But I suppose acquiring the stamps isn't as terrible as it could be." When he says this, he glances to Byleth with an almost playful coyness, before he returns his attention to Grani, directing him to descend until they land before a building. One that looks to be unused, but in fair shape. It's difficult to tell what it's for from the outside, at least.

Grani lowers himself, kneeling as he did earlier to make dismounting no trouble at all.

"Here we are."

Perfect imperfection. He gets it. The fondness and longing in his voice says enough for Byleth to discern the meaning. He listens attentively, nodding but every thought he has drops from his mind hearing that cheeky comment. He's always delighted when Emet plays along with him, and the acknowledgement feels good.

He beams up at him from behind his little mask. He won't push too far, now isn't the time for that, but sharing a moment of conspiratorial flirtation lifts his mood even more.

They land, and he slips off reaching to capture Emet's hand in his own. He's excited to see what this will be like. The relatively plain building outside piques his intrigue even more. Squeezing that apprehended hand, he nods.

"Well then. Shall we?"

This is perfect. Exactly what he wanted. Holding hands! In public! Boyfriends!

His hand being captured thus makes him momentarily tense, if only because a part of him seeks to pull away. Not because he dislikes it, quite the opposite! He likes it too much, and had this been truly a populated street with many discerning eyes upon them, he might have withdrew his hand. Instead he gives into the suggestion, allows his hand to twine with Byleth's own, as he leads him inside the building with a confirming nod.

Grani settling down comfortably while they pass the threshold, and it is as if they have walked into a different world entirely. There are no signs of the worn nature of the exterior of the building, instead the open entryway of the building is sprawling and well kept, the architectural styling similar to that of the Hall of Rhetoric, though this looks more like it might be a theatre house than a debate hall.

The intricate detailing in gold with the dark browns and stone grey of the walls certainly make a sight. Though the stain glass windows are truly breathtaking, both in their size and beauty. The care that went into crafting them was not wanting, to say the least, and the results are stunning.

The impressive chandelier that hangs above them is made of glittering crystal, shedding soft light upon them as they make their way across floors of marble. Beyond the artistry of the building, Byleth may take note that they are not alone, and that he is dressed rather appropriately to boot. For there are robed and masked individuals fast at work behind a counter, and when they take notice of the two, they offer a bright smile their mask does not hide as they gesture welcomingly, then motion for the double doors that tower just beyond.

Emet-Selch looks to Byleth, gauging his reaction, watching for every nuance change in expression, or change of focus for his gaze. What he might appreciate most, or what might baffle him.

"Well?"

Edited 2023-03-23 17:57 (UTC)

He didn't know what to expect but it certainly wasn't this. Looking around with muted awe, the expression showing at all is more than enough to say that he's impressed. He cranes his head this way and that to gawk at all the fine details of everything. The actual people there are a surprise. He knows in the back of his mind they aren't real, but he waves to the ones that greet them anyway out of habit.

"This is..." A lot of things, "So much. It's incredible. You made all this?" The unsaid portion hangs as 'for me', but the look in his eyes visible behind his mask says it all. He's utterly struck by the whole thing. What a grand gesture it all is. His hand tightens on Emet's as he looks back up at him, little else to say for his astonishment.

It's like walking into another world. The shades there make it feel as though he belongs, too. A nice feeling. Belonging somewhere. He remembers when he first felt the notion when he was teaching, and then with Dimitri.

He can't help himself from wanting to look everywhere all at once, his head still swiveling to catch every little detail.

"I'm ah. I'm speechless."

For all those Amaurotines are illusions, magicked phantoms without true wills or lives of their own, the subtle ways their smile softens at the acknowledged might lead one to believe otherwise. Such detail has been spun into this illusion, that it might boggle the mind to believe it fake. Even the smell of the air is taken into account, though that might be the oddest thing. For while the building is large, it is clean, no smell of dust or mustiness to be found, so too is the lack of any cleaner. The air is fresh, clean, as if in an open field, but they are anywhere but.

"Perhaps I did. Not that it matters, but I am glad you approve." He says a bit modestly, as if he rather not dwell on the particulars of the how, but rather focus on what's before them. He does take note of the aw, of how affected Byleth is by this, and it makes his heart swell with affection. That he would appreciate such a silly show of sentiment means a lot, and maybe it makes him feel a little less silly for indulging.

"Good evening, most esteemed Emet-Selch. It is always an honor to see you within our humble theatre house, and what a bold outfit you've chosen to wear...but it is of no moment. Pray come, take your seats! The play will start anon, and we would not have you miss any part of this glorious production. I am certain your most honorable guest will find it quite the moving spectacle, if he is not already familiar, perhaps even if he is!" The theatre attendant who speaks does so in a voice unfamiliar to Byleth, for he never knew this man. Emet-Selch, however, did and so the voice is one his mind could replicate with ease. One such member of Altima's office—advocates of the arts.

"Indeed, well, I usually find this theatre rather agreeable, but would tonight prove different, I wonder? You will speak not of this singular flamboyance, yes? After all, starting rumors about the Convocation is wont to reflect poorly on the gossiper, more than the gossipee." He offers to the illusion, as if electing to be part of the show for Byleth. Playing his own bit part for this whole experience. Nervously, this man nods and bows his head, a little embarrassed by speaking so bolding to a member of the Convocation.

Glancing to his company, a small curl pulling at his shapely lips as he nods towards the door, "shall we? I would hate for you to miss any part of the show."

As if he isn't in complete control of that happening...

Edited 2023-03-23 23:53 (UTC)

Byleth bows his head and gives his customary formal greeting to the illusory shade that greets them- a fist drawn tightly to his chest. The conversation that proceeds as such, Byleth almost forgets that it is entirely narrated by one man. When that idea does strike his mind, his lips twist in an effort not to laugh as Emet indulges himself in this show-before-a-show.

He manages himself though, and he understands. It is for the authenticity of it all. True immersion. He did say he would like to have seen what his home was like, and this is a glimpse into it. He will not put him off of this showmanship. Instead he chooses to play along. He will tease him for this later. When he has him bound and helpless.

As of now, he lifts his chin and tries to put on what he would assume might be the air of Emet-Selch's guest. He nods up to him.

"But of course, my Honorable Emet-Selch. It is my pleasure to be at your side this evening, I wouldn't want to miss a single moment." He's not a terribly good actor, but the sentiment is true to his heart. He is glad to be here, and in this company. He allows Emet to take the lead and show them into the theater proper.

It's a little silly. Okay, it's extremely silly, this whole thing he's doing. However, the sentiment isn't silly, it is as earnest as he can ever be, a vulnerability that's being exposed like a vital organ and a single stroke could simply end it all.

No pressure.

That Byleth plays along, indulges him as he indulges them both, means much to him in ways he hasn't the words for, and he has words for almost all things. There's a desperation to the details, a love letter to the characters upon this double stage, a homage to his home, at least an aspect of it. Even after an eternity, he remembers it so clearly, remembers each person he's spoken to, each person he's helped or argued with. He wouldn't allow the pain to convince him to forget, that would be the same as if he were the one who took their lives, allowing them to die a second and final time. He would not suffer that.

With Byleth's agreement, he leads him through the large double doors, gesturing with a hand to compel them to open. Beyond them are rows of seats in an impressively large auditorium, which almost looks more like a colosseum than what most might be familiar with theatre stages. The stands are certainly full, or nearly so, quiet chattering is being had between the shades, though whether or not they can be understood is another matter. It's certainly passable chatter, but low and indistinguishable enough that what's being said cannot truly be gleaned.

Or so it seems, because who would actually put that much detail in this to have all of them having their own conversations? Really, who?

As they draw closer to their seats, the conversations do actually become clearer and they are indeed talking about their own little lives. One talking about a new concept they submitted to the Bureau of the Architect, something about a multi-legged shark that is waiting approval. Another couple speaks of their studies under Mitron of the Convocation of Fourteen at Akadaemia Anyder. While others have more banal conversations about daily activities or conversations they had with colleagues.

Though as Emet-Selch approaches and steps past them to get to their seats near the front of the auditorium, the conversations hush as wide eyes behind those masks glue to him, whisperings among them quickly turn to wondering if that's Emet-Selch, and some few comment on his choice of clothing. Some seem surprised yet impressed by the boldness, some few criticize the slipping integrity of the Convocation, if this is how they are to conduct themselves in a public venue.

He ignores it all as he finds their seats, gesturing for Byleth to take his and Emet-Selch is soon to follow as he sits besides him, waiting for the large circular curtain that hides the stage to rise.

"Never you mind their chattering, 'tis but an Amaurotian pastime to gossip, and I am performing a rather flagrant social taboo."

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We are out of order on this timeline WHATEVER! Some days before Byleth's post!

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