His footsteps follow your escort’s, closely behind stiff as a board. The muscles in his shoulders were already tense. The meeting wasn’t something as formal as a gala, but his clothes were still pristine and perfectly tailored to his body. The stylist had forgone a jacket for something a little more eccentric as he’d put it. Since he’d complained so much of the suit jackets, they’d forgone one for a simple double breast vest and white shirt, the sleeves poofing out a little at the wrists. Sleeve garters held the fabric close at your bicep, and the tell-tale crest of the Emerson family was pinned at your neck like a dog tag. It very well might have been. The heirloom was old, and heavy, but it served as a sort of endorsement from the matriarch.

Aiden Emerson, at his core, was still a slumling. Authority put him at unease, and it seemed like he was walking into the highest of them all. Something he would have never done, had it not been for his patron demanding it so. The hallowed halls have an intense pressure, and part of him can understand it’s not just from the reputation of the place. He went to his seat wordless, eyes flicking around the room as he took in everyone present. He felt nervous. More nervous than having a knife pulled on you in an alley. Gods, he almost preferred that right now. The etiquette that had been drilled into him, the practiced speech that he’d recited dozens of times in his room, it all faded away. He blanked when the attention was deferred to the Emerging Leaders. Leader of what? He’d been in the coven for a little more than two months. He wasn’t even sure he knew his fellow peers very well, much less had a capability to lead.

But whatever. This is just some anxiety-inducing extracurricular activity. Fuck you, mitra van laar . They were older, they should’ve been here. As the other initiate introduced themselves, Aiden began to focus, preparing his own introduction simultaneously. He clocked the other witch, blinking in surprise as he recognized them form the sledding event. They’d spoken briefly but he hadn’t exchanged a name. At least, if he had he couldn’t even remember. ‘Aiden, it’s your turn to speak.’ McKenna reminded gently. The ginger dug his fingers into the chair as he steeled himself. Don’t fuck this up. This cannot end like your apology to milo tremerie .

“G-Good afternoon high council.” He began stumbling over himself in the beginning as his familiar whispered something soothing in the back of his mind. “My name is Aiden Emerson, the new heir apparent.” his mouth felt so dry. “Currently, I work as an initiate joining my superiors on patrol missions around Delphi while pursuing higher education. I look forward to learning from the high council.” At some point, instead of looking at others his eyes had glazed over as his attention dipped down to look at their throats instead, trying to ignore a sentient creature was listening to him spout some bullshit. He couldn’t let the embarrassment get the better of him.

Miette's dark lashes lower at the buzz of complaints Penelope's appearance garners, for they do ring a bit similar to scoldings he's received in his own youth. Of course, grandiose shows of prodigious power were far different from swiping things he shouldn't and stabbing people he shouldn't, but...still. He'll chance speaking up, in her defense, simply because it's all a little annoying to hear:

"Well I," he begins, like someone asked him to speak, "was fortunate enough to actually be at that sledding event. It was a little extreme...but hardly dangerous. After all:

Lady Krost placed a charm over the snow, to cushion any unfortunate falls."

That's delivered with cool confidence, but he is of Sybaris, and it's doubtful his word alone will sway the whiners.

Therefore, Miette looks to aiden emerson . The one Cassidy Wolfe has high hopes for.

"Isn't that right, Emerson? You were there too..."

He doesn't feel apologetic for dragging them into it either. Miette's sporting a half-smile. Almost a smirk.

Dmitri speaks directly to him — to him, and were he several years younger he might've swooned. In a fan-boy sort of way, y'know. He doesn't care too much right now, outside of being sure the man sees his affirmative nod in response to the question ( it really wouldn't do to ignore his boss ), and...

And, it's taking real effort not to mimic Dmitri's casual attitude. Miette too, wishes he could pillow his cheek against his knuckles and lounge in this uncomfortable-silly marble chair, but he won't. He can't. After all: Dmitri has the clout to back up that stance; Miette doesn't.

Doesn't know if he ever will, in fact.

( Miyavi's hum is half-heatedly chastising at that. )

It's this lack of power that keeps him silent. Damming the flood of complaints was one thing — interrupting Official Politics with his own misguided opinions was another thing entirely. So, Miette does nothing more than lace his hands together and politely listen to everyone debate, even with Mivayi's ( forced, probably ) snoring coating his thoughts.

( He also throws a wink towards aiden emerson when he glances over. It's slow. A little exaggerated. Just something to do, really. )