That mask has to be cursed.

Ludvig stared at the damn tall knight named Rezello, as he bit into this baguette sandwich no one seemed to notice him make. Sliced longward, fitted in with long strips of turkey meat, greens and peas. He ate so daintly but he was downing it really quick, while he thought about how the black-haired knight towered several inches above him.
Not just him, but his greatsword, too. How does he even swing that around?

Baguette sandwich gone, and so was Ludvig's train of thought. Was he craving for, what, a fight? With that hulk of a man?
Just imagining the notion came with the images of several people who'd be disappointed in him if they knew he'd been fighting again.

Carnatia's talk of exotic coffee beans introduced a different craving, and yet all he had in front of him was the cup of mushroom wine.
Need some distraction. They talk about the destination, the lands east of here. Ludvig may have been there, but it's been decades upon decades of nomadic behaviour, might be highly irrelevant. Specific locations are as much of a blur as their names, he'd be no help in navigation either.

There's a little bit of disappointment budding in him, how much he's unable to relate to these nobles and church people, with their talks of theocracy and bureaucracy and the processes of making wines. He found himself staring at Mirielle, this carefree petite amassment of sunshine, eating the soup-doused salmon. Better take inspiration from her level of nonchalant.
Ludvig took off his red-tinted glasses, vanishing them away into gods know where and revealing his blue eyes, as he reaches towards the mushroom wine. He might as well drink it now...

Carmen thumped the table, staying Ludvig's hand.

[quote][sup]『 [i]Carmen[/i] 』[/sup] "And worse, most of our cardinals bow down to their so-called wise recommendation![/quote]
Lightly clenched his hand, moved it away from the cup of mushroom wine. That had to be a sign.
There's something about this mushroom wine he just felt abject to. At least it looked like the Djinni that brewed this didn't care enough to be offended by his refusal to drink.

There was the hot soup, at least. Close enough, just imagine it's a new blend of decaf.
Ludvig sipped from a spoon as he turned to Osric. Aside from remembering his name in association to a most unique firearm, and the mercenary marksman work it enables him to do...

[sup]『 [i]Ludvig[/i] 』[/sup] "Did I ever work as your apprentice at some point?"

Maybe not. Then again, he worked some days for a lot of blacksmiths.