[ Wonderful. Great. Exactly what he wanted to spend his precious, extremely-limited personal time doing. It's been this way for nearly two decades, though, so Nate responds with the usual: ]
Of course, name the time and place.
And thank you for the invitation, I appreciate the inclusion. Did you have any guidance on thematic attire [ Seeing as Nate's appearance reflects on Stephen. ] or should I let Mrs. Coldwater have her way with me?
[ Frippery and finery are the watchwords of Midge's style lexicon, and she doesn't disappoint. She dresses Nate in something navy - brings out your eyes, sweetheart - she'd told him with a pat on the cheek, smoothing the silver thread embroidery and messing with his hair for the fortieth damn time.
Making his way through the upper echelons of the Volary was once a thing that earned the side-eye, the scrutiny of Shrikes, but it's been twenty years since he was first "invited" to an audience with Strange and since then his comings and goings haven't undergone the same skepticism. It's normal, for Nathan Drake to attend the weekly, or every-other-week, meeting. Normal for him to tread the same path into company so rarified most of the pee-ons will never see the man Nate sees with such regularity that it started to get old a decade ago.
Normal, still, to walk through private, reserved areas in private, reserved establishments. The concierge isn't shocked to see him, they simply excuse themselves and hurry to his side, speaking in an inoffensive, soft and conversational manner, as the guest of a Cardinal is clearly the sort of highfalutin they want - greater is the honor that it's someone whose face is gracing multiple advertisements and has for years. ]
Thanks, I got it.
[ Nate says with no small amount of exhaustion, waving the man off and opening his own door far down the corridor. It's an intimate room, all dark woods and deep greens, like something from a bygone era, and he's alone. Slipping his hands into his pockets Nate wanders to one of the windows and watches the street below. ]
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@svstrange, dm.
Looks like your cousin's been busy. Congratulations, Sam, if you see this before Nathan does.
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[ Which is a polite way of saying yes thank you for being so invested, once again. ]
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Do you have any room in that busy schedule to fit a meeting? Before the Masquerade, perhaps. You've been invited?
[ He asks, as though it's a question - as though he didn't put Nate on the guestlist himself, via Yennefer. ]
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Of course, name the time and place.
And thank you for the invitation, I appreciate the inclusion. Did you have any guidance on thematic attire [ Seeing as Nate's appearance reflects on Stephen. ] or should I let Mrs. Coldwater have her way with me?
no subject
I'll leave you to the devices of Mrs. Coldwater. I'd hate to deprive her.
no subject
[ Frippery and finery are the watchwords of Midge's style lexicon, and she doesn't disappoint. She dresses Nate in something navy - brings out your eyes, sweetheart - she'd told him with a pat on the cheek, smoothing the silver thread embroidery and messing with his hair for the fortieth damn time.
Making his way through the upper echelons of the Volary was once a thing that earned the side-eye, the scrutiny of Shrikes, but it's been twenty years since he was first "invited" to an audience with Strange and since then his comings and goings haven't undergone the same skepticism. It's normal, for Nathan Drake to attend the weekly, or every-other-week, meeting. Normal for him to tread the same path into company so rarified most of the pee-ons will never see the man Nate sees with such regularity that it started to get old a decade ago.
Normal, still, to walk through private, reserved areas in private, reserved establishments. The concierge isn't shocked to see him, they simply excuse themselves and hurry to his side, speaking in an inoffensive, soft and conversational manner, as the guest of a Cardinal is clearly the sort of highfalutin they want - greater is the honor that it's someone whose face is gracing multiple advertisements and has for years. ]
Thanks, I got it.
[ Nate says with no small amount of exhaustion, waving the man off and opening his own door far down the corridor. It's an intimate room, all dark woods and deep greens, like something from a bygone era, and he's alone. Slipping his hands into his pockets Nate wanders to one of the windows and watches the street below. ]