[ 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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I'll leave you to the devices of Mrs. Coldwater. I'd hate to deprive her.
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[ 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. ]