Mid-Morning
Aurélien was on his way to the house of Khymarah Theraldon, a young woman who had made a name for herself by offering her artisanal skills to the aristocracy of Anaxas, mainly in Vienda from what Aurélien understood. Of all the professional artists listed on the firm’s registry, Khymarah’s name was the one that stood out the most to him - he realized now it was because of a vague sense of familiarity compartmentalized away in the back of mind. He couldn’t lay his finger on where he knew the name from - the given name, not the sur. Curiosity had driven him onward out of the office and into the main thoroughfares of Vienda, where he hailed a carriage and asked to be taken to the address given.
He studied one of the many cases assigned to him while in the back of the carriage; it was something to do with a property dispute between two plantations. Seemingly easy on the outside, there were several nuances that could be easily missed, especially by those not educated in the many complexities of land. Thankfully he was no such person, but even this case befuddled him to a point.
Just as he was entering the trance of concentration, lulled on by the drumming of the carriage’s wheels beneath him and the horse’s hoofbeats before him, his ride came to an end. The driver turned to view him and smiled, tipping his hat in a mixture of so long and farewell. Aurélien produced the driver’s fare then slid from the carriage with his bag in tow. He brought the strap of his bag over his head and hung it off his shoulder as he gazed at the small house in front of him. Much like other houses in the area, while they were quaint in appearance, they held character in all the same aging grace.
He started up to the doorway, adjusting his suit at the breast and pulling his cuffs down on his wrists. His hair had grown at his fringe, washing over his dark brows and hiding the fore of his head. The home’s address was marked on the side of the door, so he brought out a paper from an inside pocket of his coat and made sure they matched up. His firm had made the appointment on his behalf, having sent a runner nearly a week earlier to ensure that Aurélien could get his portrait made in ready time. His last portrait had been painted nearly five years ago, and it needed to be updated. He already knew he would send the old one to his family estate on the outskirts of town. His mother would love it.
Aurélien raised a hand to grasp the knocker, using it to announce his presence to Khymarah - hopefully inside. While he waited, he used another hand to pat down the fly-aways at the crown of his head. Even though this was something he didn’t want to set aside the time for, he still wanted to look nice in his painting.