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shiva_dancing_backup Who: Al-Cid, Vaan
When: Evening, after Al-Cid is turned down by Ashe for a political meeting.
Where: Rabanastre
What: Running into old... acquaintances.
Rating: NC-17
Al-Cid strolled down the cobblestone pathways winding through Rabanastre's quaint buildings, teetering on the edge of irritation. Not only had he flown two hours to Rabanastre and waited almost three to meet Ashe, but the Queen had ended up postponing their treaty meeting to another day as a result of a spontaneous uprising in her packed schedule. Now, the prince was tired and needing of a good drink. He did, too, admit that Rabanastre was a charming city, and enjoyed the banter of the locals despite their ever-lingering hostility to Rozarrians.
Al-Cid headed to the local bar known as the Sandsea, his sunglasses still on despite the darkening sky. Candles were lit outside on the small tables, and thankfully the local customers did not take notice of him. Not that they would; Al-Cid was aware not many knew of his face, and unless he spoke, no one knew of his origin. Though his skin tone probably gave it away, as Rozarrians were darker still than Rabanastrans.
On entering the clamor of the bar and tavern, Al-Cid glanced around for an empty table or familiar face.
When: Evening, after Al-Cid is turned down by Ashe for a political meeting.
Where: Rabanastre
What: Running into old... acquaintances.
Rating: NC-17
Al-Cid strolled down the cobblestone pathways winding through Rabanastre's quaint buildings, teetering on the edge of irritation. Not only had he flown two hours to Rabanastre and waited almost three to meet Ashe, but the Queen had ended up postponing their treaty meeting to another day as a result of a spontaneous uprising in her packed schedule. Now, the prince was tired and needing of a good drink. He did, too, admit that Rabanastre was a charming city, and enjoyed the banter of the locals despite their ever-lingering hostility to Rozarrians.
Al-Cid headed to the local bar known as the Sandsea, his sunglasses still on despite the darkening sky. Candles were lit outside on the small tables, and thankfully the local customers did not take notice of him. Not that they would; Al-Cid was aware not many knew of his face, and unless he spoke, no one knew of his origin. Though his skin tone probably gave it away, as Rozarrians were darker still than Rabanastrans.
On entering the clamor of the bar and tavern, Al-Cid glanced around for an empty table or familiar face.
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