Ever since the armistice's announcement, fielding crowds of impassioned protesters and watching foreign diplomats trickle into the city limits, Nyx had been trying those two words on for size. Peace times. It still doesn't feel real; ironically, he's found making peace with peace something of a stumbling block since trading in the clash of swords for the clinking of silverware, the boom of explosives for the crack and pop of fireworks.
More than not feeling real, it doesn't feel quite right. Something stinks in Insomnia, a stench carried in on the coattails of fancy imperial robes.
Fortunate that Nyx is a part of the security force and by virtue of his role expected to look detached and vaguely unimpressed with the world around him. He would hate to have to follow suit with everyone else at this party and fake enthusiasm over the proceedings, pretending it isn't the knife to the throat that it is. Like dung beetles rolling their shit onto Lucis' doorstep, Nifelheim rolls in with their peace treaties and promises and they just have to take it with a smile.
Some, he's begun to realize, have to take it with a bigger smile than most.
Of all the members of the royal retinue, the Lady Lunafreya is a question mark in his mental tabulation of the personalities assembled in the Citadel. Admittedly, more of one now after seeing her strange reunion with the king. She moves on after coaxing his name and Crowe's hairpin out of him, and for a while Nyx retakes his post, impassively watching the guests with arms behind his back, scanning for the trouble he feels brewing nebulously in the back of his head. Lunafreya reappears in his line of sight several times, doing whatever it is Tenebrae princesses do while mingling at parties, and it's only when he sees princess and Chancellor on a collision course does his gaze catch and linger, curious despite himself.
It's not the trouble he'd been looking for, but it's something, that much is apparent. The oily bastard wields irreverent charm like a weapon he's trained in all his life, and he points the sharp edge at Lunafreya. Smile a little too congenial. Pressing a little too close. Things that would look innocuous to idle eyes if they weren't watching for the slight frown between Lunafreya's brows.
To Nyx's eyes, it's the Chancellor being a dick at Regis' expense and he sighs. This is exactly why he and polite society don't get along. Shooting a look at Drautos, he sees the captain's attention elsewhere, looking preoccupied with the exchange happening between the king and the emperor.
No one to mind if Nyx just happens to take the time to do a roving sweep of the room, then.
He heads in the direction of the Chancellor's reverberating laughter, pace measured. The princess would owe him big for this if it didn't give him a certain amount of pleasure to be the kind of security guard that appears at just the right time to interrupt a Nif in the middle of grandstanding.]
Excuse me-- Your Highness?
[A look to the girl, trapped under Ardyn's arm like a niece with her least favorite uncle.]
This is for you.
[From behind his back, Nyx pulls out a folded note and extends it to her, with all the perfunctory air of a member of staff playing errand boy with a note. He hopes she has the foresight not to open it in front of the Chancellor. All it is is a flyer advertising for the signing ceremony's gala, but it should do the job of giving her a reason to excuse herself.
On second thought, maybe she does owe him for this a little bit.]
did someone call for a hero in shining leather
Ever since the armistice's announcement, fielding crowds of impassioned protesters and watching foreign diplomats trickle into the city limits, Nyx had been trying those two words on for size. Peace times. It still doesn't feel real; ironically, he's found making peace with peace something of a stumbling block since trading in the clash of swords for the clinking of silverware, the boom of explosives for the crack and pop of fireworks.
More than not feeling real, it doesn't feel quite right. Something stinks in Insomnia, a stench carried in on the coattails of fancy imperial robes.
Fortunate that Nyx is a part of the security force and by virtue of his role expected to look detached and vaguely unimpressed with the world around him. He would hate to have to follow suit with everyone else at this party and fake enthusiasm over the proceedings, pretending it isn't the knife to the throat that it is. Like dung beetles rolling their shit onto Lucis' doorstep, Nifelheim rolls in with their peace treaties and promises and they just have to take it with a smile.
Some, he's begun to realize, have to take it with a bigger smile than most.
Of all the members of the royal retinue, the Lady Lunafreya is a question mark in his mental tabulation of the personalities assembled in the Citadel. Admittedly, more of one now after seeing her strange reunion with the king. She moves on after coaxing his name and Crowe's hairpin out of him, and for a while Nyx retakes his post, impassively watching the guests with arms behind his back, scanning for the trouble he feels brewing nebulously in the back of his head. Lunafreya reappears in his line of sight several times, doing whatever it is Tenebrae princesses do while mingling at parties, and it's only when he sees princess and Chancellor on a collision course does his gaze catch and linger, curious despite himself.
It's not the trouble he'd been looking for, but it's something, that much is apparent. The oily bastard wields irreverent charm like a weapon he's trained in all his life, and he points the sharp edge at Lunafreya. Smile a little too congenial. Pressing a little too close. Things that would look innocuous to idle eyes if they weren't watching for the slight frown between Lunafreya's brows.
To Nyx's eyes, it's the Chancellor being a dick at Regis' expense and he sighs. This is exactly why he and polite society don't get along. Shooting a look at Drautos, he sees the captain's attention elsewhere, looking preoccupied with the exchange happening between the king and the emperor.
No one to mind if Nyx just happens to take the time to do a roving sweep of the room, then.
He heads in the direction of the Chancellor's reverberating laughter, pace measured. The princess would owe him big for this if it didn't give him a certain amount of pleasure to be the kind of security guard that appears at just the right time to interrupt a Nif in the middle of grandstanding.]
Excuse me-- Your Highness?
[A look to the girl, trapped under Ardyn's arm like a niece with her least favorite uncle.]
This is for you.
[From behind his back, Nyx pulls out a folded note and extends it to her, with all the perfunctory air of a member of staff playing errand boy with a note. He hopes she has the foresight not to open it in front of the Chancellor. All it is is a flyer advertising for the signing ceremony's gala, but it should do the job of giving her a reason to excuse herself.
On second thought, maybe she does owe him for this a little bit.]