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Agunimon
The OtterGerard Segremors
"Glad to hear it, at least regarding your hea— Hm?"
As the older knight rose, his following query elicited a raised eyebrow from Gerard's face. Indeed, he hadn't heard. A ball right after the mission, eh? Truly never a dull moment within the Iron Roses... Though it seemed his compatriot may have had a few ideas that he didn't exactly echo, personally. A thoughtful frown passed across his face.
"A ball, huh? I've been to one or two of those before..." he began, even going so far as to cup his chin between his fingers before speaking again much more glibly. "As hired muscle."
He hadn't even been let inside the doors— no privileges on the job for rank and file grunts. Just as well, too, if he was to be honest. Though he was a rather reserved sort compared to his fellow mercenaries, he also had no experience with truly polite society's minglings. Even if it were just him, that was a recipe for unwittingly stepping upon toes. To say nothing of what would happen if the same opportunities were offered to the men who much more closely befit the stereotype.
Hiding the laugh at imagining his former comrades in such a setting behind a smile, he continued on.
"To your earlier point regarding pride, my friend, I can scarcely imagine my appointment back then was the result of anything more than haste on her part. Whether I like it or not, I'm ill-suited for either setting. Too hotheaded for proper leadership, and far too clumsy with my social graces for a ball. There's still yet much for me to learn. I hold no delusions regarding it."
It wasn't even necessarily that he didn't want to, but there were realities he couldn't avoid.
Gerard folded his arms, rolling the idea over in his head. Women who had never held a weapon? He barely felt up to scratch doing anything else. He'd probably bore them to tears, no matter how different his life may have been to their (likely) gilded cages. He was little more than a common fighter of common birth, and was certain he'd have no idea as to how to talk to someone whom wearing one of those church bell dresses was a simple matter of course.
Jerel Ban was indeed right about him, in that he was the type of man to do little more than throw himself at the grindstone whenever he was troubled. It was a useful quality in a warrior, to always seek to hone one's craft, but knighthood was more than the swinging of steel. Were it such a thing, it wouldn't have held nearly so much prestige in the minds of the people. In those such as Gerard himself. They were so much more, weren't they?
So much more than he. At least enough to live beyond the blade. Jarde had his jokes, Jerel had his books, Tyaethe her centuries of life experience. Gerard had... much to cultivate. Little more than the pithy life of a boy from the boonies.
Attending such events, however, is expected of me. If it comes to that, I'll need to put on a brave face again and take it in stride. I just hope I'm not to dance anything other than a Csárdás...
And even then, he didn't think that tradition extended anywhere close to south enough for the capital. Balls were very slow and elegant, from what he understood. Totally different in tone for certain. Perhaps something so folksy would be mildly entertaining at least, before an attempt to spare the Iron Roses' good name hammered down upon his skull.
Indeed, Segremors imagined there were many who would much more smartly take such a place rather than he.
"I mean, the last time I talked to one such girl she nearly took your head off, remember? Sorry about that one." an apologetic, somewhat self-effacing chuckle escaped his lips. "Like I was saying, I don't tend to think terribly straight in the middle of a fight. Hopefully I'm not given more authority than due in the future."
He'd have to talk with the Captain about that, but it seemed he'd wait a while yet for the proper timing. A big social event like this wasn't right for it either, assuming Sir Jerel's prediction came to pass.