The young Miqo'te hidden somewhere away within G'raha was looking forward to the festivities, a bout of whimsy having struck him the moment they entered the school and seen its festive decorations. They brought him all the way back -- way, way back -- to the seasonal festivals of his youth. And, of course, All Saints' Wake that had been growing increasingly more popular with each passing year in those last few he had before G'raha had bid the Crystal Tower sleep again, with himself sealed inside to act as its caretaker.
And so he was eager to let down his hair, figuratively speaking, and explore what the castle had to offer.
First, however, there was official business to take care of.
The Miqo'te was dressed in a warmer set of robes -- deep burgundy layered over black, complete with accents of gold and silver. He'd traded in his open-toed sandals for a pair of black traveling boots. Arm warmers laced up to his elbow, leaving his crystallized right arm visible both above and below, though his fingers did not appear to lack for any mobility. His tail curled down from the chair beside him, swaying gently. The warmer clothing was a blessing, for he was seated with the two Headmasters of Schola Praeditos on a balcony overlooking the school's courtyard, and G'raha was not used to the cooler turn of the season.
Asra, of course, had prepared costumes for them. But G'raha would save a wardrobe change for later.
Though the festivities were certainly making their way into the meeting.
"I must thank you both for your gracious --"
He paused, ears shifting. "You are a miserably insufferable lackey and a degenerate nostril-offending toll on the nerves of those with good taste and decency!"
G'raha cleared his throat, smile looking just a little strained at the edges. "-- gracious invitation. I've heard a great many wonderful things about your institution, and I must admit, I had been hoping to find the opportunity to..."
Another shriek, and his tail flicked against the leg of the chair. "You are an incalculably salacious dreck and a debauched grudge-festering plot-less melodrama of uneventful life!"
"...to visit myself." G'raha continued on, doing his best to ignore the insult-slinging slide that people were enjoying. A rather impossible feat, if the very noticeable flick and turn of his furry, cat-like ears with each new insult were anything to go by.
And so he was eager to let down his hair, figuratively speaking, and explore what the castle had to offer.
First, however, there was official business to take care of.
The Miqo'te was dressed in a warmer set of robes -- deep burgundy layered over black, complete with accents of gold and silver. He'd traded in his open-toed sandals for a pair of black traveling boots. Arm warmers laced up to his elbow, leaving his crystallized right arm visible both above and below, though his fingers did not appear to lack for any mobility. His tail curled down from the chair beside him, swaying gently. The warmer clothing was a blessing, for he was seated with the two Headmasters of Schola Praeditos on a balcony overlooking the school's courtyard, and G'raha was not used to the cooler turn of the season.
Asra, of course, had prepared costumes for them. But G'raha would save a wardrobe change for later.
Though the festivities were certainly making their way into the meeting.
"I must thank you both for your gracious --"
He paused, ears shifting. "You are a miserably insufferable lackey and a degenerate nostril-offending toll on the nerves of those with good taste and decency!"
G'raha cleared his throat, smile looking just a little strained at the edges. "-- gracious invitation. I've heard a great many wonderful things about your institution, and I must admit, I had been hoping to find the opportunity to..."
Another shriek, and his tail flicked against the leg of the chair. "You are an incalculably salacious dreck and a debauched grudge-festering plot-less melodrama of uneventful life!"
"...to visit myself." G'raha continued on, doing his best to ignore the insult-slinging slide that people were enjoying. A rather impossible feat, if the very noticeable flick and turn of his furry, cat-like ears with each new insult were anything to go by.