Sebastian was no stranger to taverns. Where his sister retreated to the silence of their home, he celebrated the setting of the sun by venturing forth into the night. Loren after dark offered such a plethora of possible adventures that he considered it a shame to not partake at least a little. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

So it would be to no one’s surprise that that evening found Sebastian Snow striding into the Bronze Lion, all easy confidence and charming smiles.

Dark eyes surveyed the room - nothing of interest stood out to him, pity - before settling at random on a lone man sitting at the bar. An unfamiliar face was hardly an unfamiliar occurrence in a city as big and well-traveled as Loren, but perhaps Seb could make a new friend. He was quite good at making new friends, if he said so himself. Strolling up to the bar, he slid into the empty seat beside the stranger and ordered his usual. Then, turning to his new neighbor, he took in the tiredness in his frame and offered an easy smile. “Long day?”

Expression morphing into commiseration, Sebastian let out a chuckle and a sigh. “Aren’t they all,” He agreed, taking the other man’s hand and giving it a firm shake. “Yet we all dread the day the next one doesn’t arrive.” See? He would wax philosophical, too, sometimes, Severine.

A brief pause. “Well met, Io. Sebastian, at your service.” At least, at his service insofar as Sebastian listened to anyone other than his sister and his own whims. Still, with a good-humored smile, he offered a slight bow from his seated position before looking down at the outfit he wore as if only just noticing what he was wearing.

“How can a man turn down such an offer?” He straightened up to display the cut and trim of his clothing all the better. “One @oriana runs a little shop called The Perfect Fit, and at my sister’s recommendation, I stopped by to see if she had anything that suited me.” And she had.

Calling upon his own fondness for luxury and lavishness, Sebastian ran an appraising eye over Io’s clothing now, which was of a high enough quality that he suspected the man belonged to low nobility rather than the common folk. “And your own, Io? I daresay that coat is a work of art.”

Curiously, Io had far more of a reaction to Oriana Dumont’s name than Sebastian could have predicted - what would anyone find particularly objectionable about a commoner seamstress of whom Severine had seemed particularly fond, except for the part where Sev was fond of her, which meant she was likely boring? - but he hid his interest with a grin and a chuckle. “Don’t let that final chord play tonight, Io!” He reached over and thumped Io helpfully on the back while he tried to clear his airways of alcohol. “At least not while the night is so young and full of potential.” A whimsical note entered his voice before Sebastian, with the air of a wise elder, offered a final piece of advice while the other finished recovering. “Remember, we breathe our air and drink our mead.”

His amusement at the situation only grew as his drinking buddy for the evening revealed both the source of his coat and the reason for his apparent dislike of Dumont. Competition was fun, rivalries even more - especially when Sebastian could start them. Alas, this one seemed to be already very well-established, though as he reconsidered the man with raised eyebrows, he saw no reason why he couldn’t search for a way to fan the flames further. Sebastian liked fires, metaphorical and otherwise: they kept life interesting.

And watching people attempt to put them out was uniquely entertaining.

“I’m impressed,” He said, raising his mug slightly toward the man. “You must be quite the skilled tailor if the queen herself calls upon your services.” A pause, then a gesture toward Io’s coat, accompanied by a smile. “Though, naturally, I can see that for myself.” Sebastian took a swig of his drink, nodding his gratitude to the other man for covering his drinks. Truly, so considerate of him to offer - and how rude it would be of Sebastian to turn him down.

“Demeter and Son,” He repeated, tucking the name and the face of Io Demeter, apparent tailor to the queen, away in the back of his mind. “Why, Io, you’ve bought me my drinks tonight, so of course, I will simply have to stop by. Now, you’ve tailored a gown for the queen. Do you work on other members of the royal family as well?”

A tailor with access to not only the queen but also the Rainecourt boys. Sebastian would be stopping by Io Demeter’s shop indeed – and perhaps he might send Severine the tailor’s way as well. There were times when a woman’s delicate touch could accomplish far more than a gentleman’s company, and if the tailor sitting before him had begun longing for a family of his own, well, who was Sebastian Snow to overlook such an admission?

“What a world we live in,” Sebastian mused lightly, an accompanying smile rising to meet the tailor’s at the mention of the princes. “If two young boys consistently behave better than full grown men. I understand why your week must be so long, Io.” Another swallow, then his words took on a somewhat self-deprecating humorous lilt. “Would you mind telling me more about them? I would like to know just the standard against which I will be measured when I visit your shop.”

As for himself? Sebastian chuckled and waved a hand. “Nothing so prestigious as supplying Their Majesties with clothing, I assure you. I am but a student of life, drifting like a leaf on the winds of time to wherever they might take me, which tonight appears to be enjoying your company at this fine establishment.”