Sylvain spent an extensive period in the eager care of a gentleman by the name of Reygnan, a scholar and tutor hired to bring him up to the standards of his cousin. The very morning after introductions were made between himself and the heir to house Leblanc, he was greeted just after dawn by the older gentleman who spent the entire day going over etiquette and protocol. Sylvain tried to muster up some motivation over the subject, but the whirlwind of arriving in Port Dusk alongside the pronouncement of Marcell kept him dour.
He considered the fact that the names of his new family was high enough on the agenda for him to learn them relatively early into his studies with Instructor Reygnan. The Baron, Leon Alton Leblanc III, was the head of the house and remained single after the death of his wife thirty years ago. The man had two children, Leon Alton Leblanc IV and Leontine Therese Leblanc. Leon IV married a noblewoman and had the young adults Sylvain met earlier, Leon Alton "Arleone" Leblanc V and Elleanore Jean-Firmin Leblanc. Their mother and Marcell's father had yet to be named since they were not Leblancs by blood, yet their absence in the descriptions of the family and household left him uncomfortable. He felt like he had more in common with them than the members he was actually related to, the distance made him feel alone. He was, at least, happy to have a bit more details about the other inhabitants.
The young man was not able to meet with anyone aside from the servants and his tutor, and none of those employed by House Leblanc had any interest in chatting with him or getting to know him. It wasn't for lack of him trying- Sylvain assumed they must have been given strict instruction to not fraternize. He felt isolated and trapped, but was so overwhelmed from morning to night that there was little Sylvain was able to do to resolve the situation. Even looking in the mirror left him feeling trapped, he barely recognized the groomed, puffed-up, and apathetic looking man that met his gaze through the reflection. His only solace was that soon they would transition to more than just etiquette and protocol; it was made clear that eventually they would cover language, history, mathematics, and eventually the skills and hobbies befitting of nobility. The level of focus Instructor Reygnan demanded of Sylvain left him with no time to day-dream about other pursuits. That made it quite the pleasant surprise when just as he felt as if his limit was approaching he was given alternative instructions.
A young servant, one he failed to recognize, brought word that travel into the city had been arranged for him. Sylvain was at first suspicious as, although he had spent barely over a week in this wing of the estate, he failed to place the young servant among the faces he was familiar with moving along the halls. He doubted any of the others would pay as much attention, Reygnan basically implied that to people of high birth or standing servants were invisible. He described them to the fisherman as "the unseen and unheard caretakers meant to blend into the background and ensure the house ran smoothly" which Sylvain supposed was as polite a description as he would get from the grumpy tutor.
Traveling into the city seems like it would be a great moment for something troubling to occur buuuut, I somehow doubt I'm actually registering as more than a vague insult or nuisance to them. Reygnan has made clear to me just where I stand as a bastard, one of many, randomly taken into such a distinguished house into my adulthood without formal- or informal really- education. The silent musings of the noble-to-be were interrupted when the servant had directed him through myriad halls unfamiliar to him, which led to a servants exit on a far side of the estate. He didn't recognize the surroundings from any of the balconies or windows he was familiar with from the wing he lived in, which made the young man even more nervous and also slightly embarrassed for not being alert.
A hackney pulled by some small breed of equine was before him, a few servants milling about with the most senior in appearance among them chatting calmly with the driver. They almost immediately dispersed with his arrival, aside from the senior staff member, who nodded to Sylvain and gave a small bag to the driver. The young man stopped the older one before he could depart with a question forming on his lips- one that wiped the neutral calm from the servant's face and replaced it with a mix of indignity and confusion.
"Mr?"
"Orden, Master Sylvain."
"Mr. Orden, where exactly am I headed and who arranged it?"
The man seemed even more perplexed at this response, his eyebrows shooting up into his slicked gray-and-black combover. He adjusted his gloves and lapels, looking around a bit before meeting the young man's eyes and speaking- this time with his neutral calm returned.
"My lady has made it clear that a visit to one of the more affluent, but not ostentatiously wealthy, port districts might help with any sense of homesickness or malaise you might be experiencing in your time here. With that said, I really must be off."
The explanation caught Sylvain by such a surprise he didn't manage to keep the man from leaving, which left the young fisherman with a sense of curiosity and doubt that mingled hand in hand. He struggled to keep his hands from rubbing at his eyes or temples, and allowed the driver to help him up with a forced smile. Mr. Orden, I have to find out if he is general house staff or serves someone specific within the manor. There is really no telling what they intend with this, but it comes across somewhat genuine if they made specifics to take me to watch the ships or boats come into port or down-river. Also that they specified a middle-wealth port district and not the poor or richer sections of 'naval commerce' as Reygnan would put it. Sylvain wasn't quite sure who it could be, and no amount of distracting thoughts were able to ease the ball of tension that could be both anxiety or excitement, forming in his chest. The realization that a few times he had been caught staring longingly at the river or off into the horizon came to him, but the most senior person to discover him this way was one of the maids that were a few years his senior; he had no memory of anyone important catching him and certainly none made to ask about his actions or desires. The young man supposed that people talk, and it could have been mentioned at any point after the first time it occurred.
It was a few minutes before they exited from the massive walled-in section of the district that made up the Leblanc Estate. Sora Chateau might have been the main house the family and staff resided and worked in, but there were several other buildings and stretches of fields and gardens that made up the total of the property. Sylvain even caught a few of the men-at-arms that escorted him in one of the areas sparring or dueling or doing something of that nature. When he finally found himself within the city, the district itself was not any less beautiful than the estate he was coming from. Large manor houses, smaller than the Chateau but still grand, were everywhere with beautifully decorated streets. Staring as the hackney was pulled along- Sylvain was once again trapped within his own thoughts and worries before the driver broke him from the stupor with a question. To Sylvain, it was as if they had teleported from the richest noble district to a main thoroughfare that ran perpendicular to the river.
"Young master we have a few choices, I could bring you over to the port itself or take you to the shipyard where a few vessels are being repaired on drydocks or being refitted for their preparation from sea voyage to up the river."
"I think," Sylvain began after taking far too long to respond to this simple question. "I think I would prefer the shipyard. I have never seen any real ships being built or repaired and I think it would be fun."
Upon finishing his response he was once again distracted, but this time by how different his surroundings were from their origin. He missed the response of the driver but saw him nod from his seated position within the hackney, and before they reached the bank of the river they turned down another street. Eventually, after a somewhat meandering route to Sylvain, they arrived at a shipyard with a few vessels in the water and one lifted by various ropes and cranes to sit just above what looked to be an artificial launching region. Sylvain was not dumbstruck by the scale as none of these ships were behemoths like the ones whose silhouette could be made for leagues when they approached the port. It was still very fascinating to the self-described marshlander.
After a brief conversation that ended with where the driver would be waiting and a recommendation for a tavern to get some rum and a meal before leaving, Sylvain approached a spot where there was slightly less foot traffic and just looked out at the ships in the bay. The screech of water birds overheads and murmur of talking was a beautiful accompaniment to the song of sailors yelling back and forth and work being performed on the ships in front of him. Lost in the serenity of this everyday chaos, Sylvain idled the time. Occasionally he would spot something or someone new to gaze at, but his thoughts were automatic. He didn't focus on his anxiety or other complex problems, he simply enjoyed what lay before him. When his stomach finally began to rumble and the young man began to entertain conscious thought once more, he pushed back from the railing that had been his meditative anchor and immediately slammed into someone hurrying by.
Sylvain was almost knocked down, but managed to catch himself on the railing and keep standing. Without even looking back to whomever had slammed into him, the young fisherman-turned-noble prepared an apology that would have made Reygnan sneer at his lack of decorum.
"Damn, I really felt that one. I'm really sorry, I forgot myself when I pushed into your path."
By the time Sylvain had completed his apology, he was looking down at a tomboyish woman with shoulder length hair that wore the attire of a mercenary or militiaman. She was pushing her bangs out of her eyes with a look of exasperation at the oaf. She had light brown skin with a golden undertone with hints of freckles and a scar below her left eye that traced her high cheekbone; a slight sheen of sweat from her exhaustion gave her an almost glowing look in the sunlight. The eyes that caught his were a dark hazel, and her gaze and raised eyebrow showed confidence in herself and perhaps judgement of Sylvain. For some reason it brought a bit of heat to his cheeks. She must have noticed despite Sylvan's tan, because she had a subtle smirk and blew air from her nose quickly.
Sylvain reached down to help her up, and started talking again to mask his fluster. He attempted to pull on some of his lessons with Reygnan, but this was the first time he needed to use them outside of an instructional setting aside from servants or workers so he struggled a bit.
"Sorry again," he pulled her up to stand, unsurprised to find she was slightly taller than him. He gave a short bow, gentlemanly and chosen to show that he was of station but not enough to reveal his noble status. His heart finally started to slow down as he considered how he would address her and introduce himself. Yeah, I think it's best if I come across as low nobility or a wealthy merchant or something.
"I am Sylvain of Careaux. It is a pleasure to meet you."
"Well, Sylvain I take it you aren't a local with how you were bumbling around looking lost."
She adjusted her brown hair from in front of her face, and Sylvain noticed her other hand tracing a sword she kept sheathed at her side. When his gaze flicked back up from the weapon to hers, she gave him a genuine smile.
"Don't worry! I don't plan on robbing you in broad daylight," she wiggled her eyebrows at this and Sylvain didn't bother stopping the smile from forming on his lips. Her accent seems strange, it has to be a northern one. I know that the nobility is supposed to speak a different dialect up there but I figured commoners wouldn't have a noticeable difference.
"Well, I am thankful for that Miss?"
"Sloan is fine, no need for any title." She reached out a hand as opposed to the curtsy that Reygnan made clear would be the norm for when he engaged with high society. Readily taking it, he noticed how coarse her hands were. Sylvain could tell she trained a lot with the weapon at her side, or at least a weapon. He noticed a slight smirk as she squeezed his hand, a little harder than necessary, but afterwards she leaned back and cracked her back before speaking up again.
"Soo, you are pretty well dressed. Not that I would expect someone from the sticks to be poor, but you are clearly a bit more fashionable than the average man your age. You aren't exactly built like a merchant either."
After shaking out his hand subtly, Sylvain stopped to consider her words. He specifically chose an outfit today that didn't scream nobility or wealth. She has a really good eye, I guess you need one for mercenary work or dueling or whatever she does with that sword of hers. I figured my own way of speaking would give away that I'm from farther out, it isn't like I'm trying to hide it.
"How terrible," Sylvain said, leaning slightly on the way of speaking from his home. She snorted again at his words and overly accentuated accent, but he quickly returned to his normal voice. "I was trying so hard not to reveal my marshland roots and here you are pointing out all my flaws for the world to see."
"Do not worry yourself, suspiciously overdressed peasant, your secret is safe with me."
She put a hand over her heart and leaned back as she spoke the words mimicking the way someone might give an oath, rocking back on her heels. Sylvain shook his head with another slight smile at her words and actions. It feels nice to actually talk to someone. Damn, I know I missed this but I feel like if I don't temper myself I'll end up doing or saying something embarrassing. The overdressed peasant cleared his throat and motioned along the path she was walking and made to answer the first remark she made about him after their collision.
"You were right, I am not a local. I was given a recommendation of a place to grab something to eat and drink a bit of rum, perhaps you would care to join me?"
His pulse quickened at the words, and he had to stop himself from adjusting his color upon asking. Doing his best to remain natural, not entirely sure why he was even that nervous to begin with, he subtly wiped his hands on his pants. Sloan had a slight twinkle in her eye, she squinted into the distance and the hand opposite of her sword came up to rest under her chin and tap gently at her lips. For a split second, her lips were all Sylvain could focus on. Thankfully, the spell was quickly broken when she answered his question.
"Very well Sylvie, I will let you accompany me to the tavern! Lead the way, drinks are on you."
"I uhh, don't know where it is actually. Let me go ask my driver, I will be right back."
After returning with the directions, the two made their way through the streets to an innocuous little rum bar with no name above its sign- it simply read "Rum & Food Inside." As they entered, Sylvain listened in as Sloan started weaving a tale about her journey here from the north and how she was planning on making a name for herself as a mercenary. She didn't press Sylvain about his own details, but he could see the unasked question in her eyes whenever he would comment or try to relate to certain details. As they relaxed at their table and continued chatting away, the young man figured life wouldn't be too bad here after all.