[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color]
[center][@Raineh Daze][@VitaVitaAR][/center]

The contrast of black gown and red eyes upon alabaster skin and snow-colored hair popped into the young swordsman's peripheral vision, to say nothing of her immense, ever-present blade. He looked up from his plate, and rather than casting his gaze beyond a pale child as he was accustomed to, she had evidently decided to take the form of a woman. One he still towered over at present, yes, but not so obviously locked into an eternal youth.

[color=goldenrod]"More befuddled than annoyed, for the most part."[/color] Gerard replied, raising his glass in greeting and thanks to Paladin Tyaethe Radistirin. She'd shown up just as he'd helped himself to a slice of ham, the salty and savory flavor complimented by the sweetness of a honey and brown sugar crust. Between mouthfuls he had downed a little more of his spiced wine, but for all her short (if now definitively adult) stature, it seemed the First and Youngest had already matched his intake. [color=goldenrod]"I guess I don't quite yet look the part of an Iron Rose in armor."[/color]

...Could a vampire [i]get[/i] drunk? There was, in truth, scarcely little he understood about them beyond the basics of their legend— the antipathy they faced from holy Reon, their need to consume blood through the fangs to survive, plus her plainly evident strength. Beyond that, little else. Something about garlic or running water...

Still— vampire or not, a comrade was a comrade. Though Segremors considered himself a fairly staunch Reonite, having burned more than a few white lilies since even boyhood, he held no doubts as to the Paladin's allegiances to their order, or their protectorate. With easily eight or even nine times as much distinguished service as an Iron Rose as he had years upon the Earth, it would be presumptuous in the utmost to even consider. 

[color=goldenrod]"Though, I now that I think about it, there [i]may[/i] have been a man in blue and gold that was trying to curse me from afar over that way."[/color] he continued, unceremoniously jerking a thumb in the general direction he had seen the rather rotund nobleman (assuming his guess was correct), nearer to the cake. [color=goldenrod]"Some talk about 'riffraff', 'mercenaries', that sort of thing—"[/color]

"Aaaaah, Sir Knight! See? Didn't I tell you they would be here?!"

[color=goldenrod][i]Hm?[/i][/color]

"Ah, how exciting! Yoohoo, Sir Knight!"

[color=goldenrod][i]Uh oh.[/i][/color]

He had been surrounded. If this were a battlefield, he'd have been dead on the spot unless it was again Dame Radistirin that he had been conversing with— In what felt like a flash, three young women of obvious status far above his own had crowded around him, pleading for tales of adventure and gallantry from, of all knights present, [i]him[/i]. A commoner and a greenhorn, who had not even spent a year inside the hallowed halls of Candaeln. It was all too recently that he hadn't even shown his face on the field of battle, instead witnessing hell beneath brown hood and leather mask.

He was afraid of this. Afraid of [i]exactly this[/i] happening, as it were.  He had never been much of an orator to begin with in his mind, and he scarcely knew what stories to share. His eyebrows shot up and he, so taken aback by the sudden barrage of titters and requests, found himself recoiling a bit, as though his body believed he could lean out of their way and let the words pass by.

[color=goldenrod]"Uh..."[/color]

Gerard's eyes, amber and bright with a panic that had never shown itself on the battlefield in the last half-decade, flicked over to meet those of Tyaethe. She had experience in spades, both with knightly quests and with noble girls. Hers were the tales they wanted. Not his. They wished to hear tell of adventure and heroism.

[color=goldenrod][i]Not a faceless mercenary trudging through the mud and smoke. I suppose that narrows things down a quite a bit, doesn't it? Luckily, only last night we rode home from one of the missions that remains.

As pedestrian as we all thought it to be. Funny.[/i][/color]

Clearing his throat, the young knight returned his gaze to the trio, passing it amongst each one as he stalled, manufacturing a moment to recollect himself. His hands, still holding food and drink, relieved themselves of the latter by way of him downing the rest and setting the empty glass back upon the table. He held liquor well by necessity, all it amounted to was just a little greasing of the wheels up top.

He met them this time with a genial, friendly smile.

[color=goldenrod][i]Just don't overdo it, Sagramore, and we'll be fine.[/i]

"Well, you must forgive how green a Rose I am, firstly. I don't have much time within the Order to speak of..."[/color]

The two that were really driving this had an eagerness and exuberance that he didn't want to let down. The third's exasperation, despite being much closer to something he felt he could handle, seemed almost lost against their dazzling whimsy. He'd been in a similar position many times in his band of mercenaries; the quieter one who nevertheless tagged along with their less reserved peers. 

[color=goldenrod]"However, we did just yesterday return from slaying the Bandit King and his crew of brigands, under the leadership of our new Captain. Paladin Tyaethe and I actually both got the chance to cross swords with that bastard."[/color]