Once they picked up Michaelis they would look like a complete mess. Any party made up of a drow woman touting a riding crop that was liberally used to encourage people to get out of her way, whose thigh high stiletto boots were made of more material than the rest of her clothing and a short man in a long grey coat with a mane of black hair being trailed by an elven man that looked like he belonged in a noble house (which was the best case scenario, worst case he would be piss drunk and staggering after him) would look suspicious. Or maybe just curious enough for the city folk to note that they were there. This time they weren't doing anything that would be of concern, but knowing that people knew that he was in Arca still unnerved Cushion.
Even more annoying was that there was nothing he could do about it. Technically Vlonuque would have to stop hitting the people in their way (or put some clothes on) and Michaelis would have to put down the bottle if he ordered them too. That scenario wouldn't end well. They would agree, that was certain, but then they would turn to other things to satisfy themselves now that they couldn't hit people or drink them self stupid. Their new hobbies might not be much better. In this case, Cushion preferred to deal with the situation he was familiar with, than waiting to react to a new one. As long as Vlonuque kept from hitting anyone that looked marginally important, everything would go as nice as it could in this circumstance.
If she hit anyone important, or anyone took offense, Cushion planned on abandoning her and leaving Lavender with instructions to bail her out if she got in too much trouble. Now if only she'd manage to do it. Some time without one or another person around to supervise him would be nice. The entire organization seemed to have forgotten that he could be alone without dying, or getting into trouble. His escorts were usually the ones that attracted all the unecessary attention...
Cushion dragged his feet, letting his shoulders slump and eyes wander. Even knowing that this fuss about him was temporary didn't help improve his mood. He was in too-
The hiss of the crop drew Cushion's attention back to Vlonuque. His ears stood straight up and he scowled at the person, willing them to be important - or at least short tempered. An hour on his own was all Cushion needed, then he'd go right back to lunch with other people and searching through receipts and bags of hot gems. All this person had to do was raise their hackles.
