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 Posted: Sat Jun 20, 2015 5:25 pm
A flash of light distracted him from his brooding. Matthias squinted at the source of the light only to find it vanished; in its place was a young woman with long, ginger-brown hair instead. Before he had chance to properly panic about her clear progress towards his table (gods, there were so many others empty, why?) the café door opened again and another stranger entered.
“Good day.” The stranger bothered with no additional formalities or introductions before seating himself. Matthias stared at him carefully blank-faced before shifting focus to the fair-haired brunette just now coming up to the table. Their gold accessories caught him off guard. Not that it was his place to judge, but were people really comfortable drawing attention like that? He wasn’t.
“Good day.” He returned the greeting with practiced friendliness and smiled up at the brunette. The civility was a formality and little more; it looked bad when he let himself get worked up too easily. The media blamed it on his condition. If these people were yet another ploy to needle him into a public psychological breakdown for the morning papers, Matthias refused to play nicely.
Standing up, he drew his chair out in invitation for the brunette to take it in his stead. “Bad manners to sit before a lady, isn’t it?” He grinned at the black-haired, dark-skinned man seated in the chair opposite. Then making a show of catching himself, he shot the brunette an apologetic look that didn’t quite lose all vestige of his former smile. “But I guess it’s even worse manners to assume she wanted to sit in the first place, right? Sorry, I’m still new at this.”
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Posted: Sat Jun 20, 2015 5:44 pm
Andrea Drey blinked as the blonde young man rose from his seat at the table, offering her his chair. She hadn't necessarily been intending to sit down, having only been making her around the cafe to admire the artwork, but with the chair offered, she gave him a small, if slightly shy smile and inclined her head. "How could I refuse such gentlemanly treatment." She inquired, attempting to add a little humor into the situation. "Thank you." She took the seat he'd offered, and looked around at the two men curiously. Something strange was quite obviously going on, as she recognized neither of these men. She may have been fairly new to Wildehaven, but she'd seen everyone there at least one, except, perhaps Lady Annabelle, whom she'd heard about from Garret, but never seen. Also, the black haired man, who'd entered after her and seated himself without invitation was wearing clothes she'd never seen before. It was a very strange style indeed. Finally, she couldn't help herself. "Um... Is anyone else getting the feeling that the've ended up in a location different than their intended destination?" She asked, a bit nervously. "Because I'm feeling that way, at the moment." She wasn't sure what prompted the confession, but had, for whatever reason given it anyway. Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, she dropped her head and watched the men from beneath her lashes.
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Posted: Sat Jun 20, 2015 5:53 pm
Arim blinked his dark brown eyes in surprise, and then annoyance. The woman took the seat though, with a word of thanks.
After staring at him, she stated the obvious. "Teleportation spell on the door," Arim said, "not something normal mages mess with, but I doubt it is a planned assassination. They would have just had it shred us instead of delivering us here." He pressed two of his fingers together and moved the nails over each other so they made a slight clicking noise before he dropped his hands. "If they were planning on ransoming, it would have led to a place far more secure." Leaning back in his chair so that he was as comfortable as a straight back could get, he turned back to the standing boy. "Sit down, kid, you are being rude. What are your names?"
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Posted: Sat Jun 20, 2015 7:07 pm
Matthias barely refrained from scowling. Magic and mages and teleportation. Right. These media types played up his condition to the umpteenth degree with s**t like this. While he maintained his exterior composure surprisingly well, inside was another story.
“Being called rude by someone who didn’t even introduce himself before sitting at my table? Come on. That’s a bad joke at best.” And a challenge at worst. Matthias never took his eyes off the black-haired man as he took the chair next to the brunette. Maybe it was subconscious conditioning, but he trusted the company of women more than men when it came to challenging first impressions.
Besides, in his experience, the women waited longer for the inevitable backstabbing.
“But hey, I’m all for building bridges, right? I’m Matthias.” As if the dressed-up man didn’t already know. The theatrics of his ridiculous swords-and-sorcery ruse aside, there was nothing more dangerous than a good distraction, and the man was playing the latter role well. Turning to the brunette, Matthias smiled. “And I don’t think we’ve met, but you look familiar. Do you know my father?” He held out his hand to shake.
Did she actually look familiar? Not in the slightest. But he was no stranger to this game and knew when to lie, and lie well.
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Posted: Sat Jun 20, 2015 7:26 pm
Andrea Drey looked even more baffled than she had been before. Teleportation, assassination? The hell was this man on about? Who in the hell would want to assassinate a single jewelry maker who lived alone? Unless it was for the fact that she had a slight crush on the local vampire who lived on the mansion up the hill, but no one even knew about that. It was ridiculous. She was beginning to feel more and more lost and out of place as the conversation wore on. Good as she was as at perceiving emotions, she heard Matthias' annoyance and irritability even beneath his cheery exterior, and wondered what had caused it. Was it just the dark haired man's commanding presence, or was it something she'd done? She was settling on the former when the kid addressed her rather pointedly. "I, uh... No. I can't say that I do. Like I said, five minutes ago, I was in Wildehaven, and now I haven't the faintest idea where I'm at. That aside, my name is Andrea, or Drey for short." She shook his hand, but was starting to feel she might be better suited to find her own table, or leave entirely. The hostility in the air was a little overwhelming, at the moment.
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Posted: Sat Jun 20, 2015 7:42 pm
Arim did not bother with a polite smile or to keep the hard stare from his face. The only time it was rude for him to sit down anywhere, was when his father stood and held attention.
The kid, Matthias, a name clearly from the Warring Lands, asked the woman if she knew his father. The woman's name held enough vowels at the end of it for her to be from there as well, which made the boy's actions even more confusing. Although his extremely pail complexion made Arim wonder if the kid was ill.
"Dri," Arim said, slipping the feminine ending onto her name as a force of habit. He then turned to the boy. "You are the one being rude, child. My daughter has better manners than you, and she still takes her meals in the nursery. Where is your watcher?"
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Posted: Sat Jun 20, 2015 7:58 pm
[HNGHHHH THE FEELS BE EATING ME ALIIIIIIVE.]] Yakov Yakov's heart fluttered with intrigue and surprise before his thoughts had time to catch up. Digesting her words carefully, he squinted with skepticism and let out a small chuckle. " Elves? Is Jóna from the stars and a fairy tale?" Virtually nothing about the past 24 hours or so had made sense to him, so it wasn't as if she should either. Although, as long as he was here, he may as well try to make as much sense out of it as possible. He gathered his thoughts and resumed sitting in a more upright position, the tone in his voice remaining soft yet playful. "Yakov has been thirty-two for almost five years..." he trailed off. He looked down at his right side to see the most recent scar-- an entry point from a bullet at close range. "And Yakov does not die easily," he said with a groan. He would reach to put his shirt back on, but it seemed the hand pressed against him wasn't ready. Yakov turned to her with a smirk, flitting a finger against her cheek. "Jóna can eat hearts with Yakov... just not Yakov's."
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Posted: Sat Jun 20, 2015 8:14 pm
Jóna Thirty-two was quite old for a human, although Yakov didn't look it. She studied his face carefully. He certainly didn't look thirty-seven. A smile fought its way to her cheeks, although she tried to smother it back, especially when he teased her about being from the stars. Catching the finger that feathered her cheek, she gave it a small kiss. "Would you believe that Jóna is forty-nine years?" She didn't mean to use her own name as a pronoun. His speech mannerisms were difficult not to mimic. "I like to think that I'm not easy to kill...I suppose we'll find out tomorrow, won't we?" she sighed, dropping his hand and pulling her other away from his chest, feeling depressed again. Somehow, she dredged up another small smile. "You look like you have enough scars without adding ones fro me to the mix. If I survive tomorrow, you and I will eat hearts together someday. I promise to leave just yours alone." She set adjusted the towel around herself and swiped away a few disobedient tears that escaped between her eyelashes. Yakov was a distracting mystery of a man, but she couldn't escape the looming presence of her trials. Her last night was not supposed to be melancholy. She had been present for the parties thrown for others who took the trials before her. They seemed so confident all the way along. Of course, most of them had all died...
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Posted: Sat Jun 20, 2015 9:53 pm
Yakov His brows furrowed and a small sigh escaped from his nose. Yakov wasn't pleased with the words coming from his flower right now. "Tomorrow," he started, unsure of what to even make of their encounter, "Where is this tomorrow?" Yakov placed a hand on her shoulder. His memories of the night before still remained fuzzy and vague, but the thought of a woman in the midst of melting his frozen Siberian heart possibly dying the next day, would simply not do. He ran through his mind the schedule he and Ruslan had to keep to. Nothing too important...
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Posted: Sat Jun 20, 2015 10:12 pm
Jóna She perked a brow. "Where? My home, of course. The swamp. There's this huge cave system right off the ocean where the Grootslang lives. I go in one end. I have to come out the other." Tomorrow. It had always seemed so far away. Burn it all, could it really be upon her? She started hyperventilating a little bit, scraping her hair back on her scalp. "I'm so not ready for this," she uttered, chest squeezing.
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Posted: Sat Jun 20, 2015 10:31 pm
Yakov The more they spoke, the more similarities they found between the other--all remarkable and supernatural--but the more he listened, the more he realized this was no average brothel spy, if one at all. He still had more than enough work to do, and Ruslan probably still passed out at the bar somewhere; but his interest had piqued, and against his better judgement, he could already feel his priorities shifting. He contemplated for a moment before realizing that the giant of Siberia had never set foot into any swampland. The arid flatlands of his former missions were already enough to make him long for the snow-capped forests of home. His hand slid down from her shoulder to holding her arm, with his thumb resting on the inside curve of her elbow; the result of a sad attempt to move his grasp from Jóna. "What does Jóna need to be ready?"
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Posted: Sat Jun 20, 2015 10:49 pm
Jóna What did she need to be ready? She only had a day. There was no getting ready. Still clutching her hair back, oblivious of the big hand on her arm, Jóna folded over onto herself, breath coming out in short gasps until they morphed into sobs. She slapped a hand over her eyes as tears escaped freely. Each shuddering breath was more painful than the last. She couldn't muffle the ugly, desperate noises emitting from her mouth. "How...d...do...I...p...p...prepare?" she heaved. "I...I...d...don't...h...have...any...any...anymore...ti-i-i-ime." She felt absurd, but she couldn't stop it. She managed to be stoic all up until this point. She managed to hold it in. She managed to fight it back and pretend like it didn't scare her pissless. Just why did she have to do this here? In front of him?
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Posted: Sat Jun 20, 2015 11:04 pm
Yakov And suddenly, the beautiful flower before him wilted into a puddle of ugly heaving tears and blubbery hopeless moans. He quickly realized that she was just as confused as him. Yakov felt her arm quivering against his hand as she cried. "But you're here now," he said, moving an arm to wrap around her. "I don't understand this place, or where you are from, but If Jóna doesn't go, Jóna can't die," he reasoned simply. He couldn't comprehend how such an obvious solution could still have her crying as if she were about to lay in her very death bed. Yakov placed a thick calloused finger under her chin, and tilted it up slightly. "Jóna comes with Yakov."
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Posted: Sat Jun 20, 2015 11:19 pm
Jóna She couldn't bring herself to even try to explain her situation. She couldn't get into the nuances of her culture or the reasons she had to do this or even that, in some perverse way, she wanted to go into the Grootslang's den just to see if she could do it. She didn't want to take her immortality unfairly or cheat for it or have it handed to her. Like all other elves before her, she wanted to face the trials, and even though it was highly unlikely, she imagined herself overcoming the odds and beating them. She just couldn't find the words to convey this to Yakov. How could he possibly understand? When he tilted her chin up, she stared back through bleary, tear soaked eyes. His words rattled through her head like a panicked bird. "Jóna comes with Yakov." She couldn't comprehend them, as if he spoke another language. "W...what?" she finally choked out.
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Posted: Sun Jun 21, 2015 12:02 am
Yakov Yakov began to have second thoughts as he read her expression, looking more hopeless and pathetic by the moment. "Well, we are at war," he rattled off without much thought. "There would not be many safe places to be with Yakov." He relented his hand from her chin. "But, it may be safer than Grootslang, whatever the hell that is." Sure, his reasoning was somewhat flawed, but it was the best he could offer. Spy or just a fanciful liar, he began to care less about her origins are more of where she may end up-- and if that could ever involve his lap, or perhaps terrible poetry.
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