closed.

[hornswoggle]

WHO: john + leander
WHAT: magic talk
WHEN: solace
WHERE: lowtown
NOTES: just two pals out on the town

It's not all that difficult to find John Silver in the evening. Travel to Lowtown, find a Walrus man and trail along after them as their evening stroll inevitably leads them through the doors of a crowded tavern.

John isn't always the one stood up in the center of the room. Tonight's offering is a tall, brightly-dressed woman swearing up and down about the Cetus that nearly overturned her vessel some years ago, how narrowly she escaped, how her incredible skill was the only thing that saved her. Beyond her, John is seated at a corner table, back against the wall and tankard in front of him momentarily untouched.

When he sees Leander, he reaches a hand to the side to grasp his crutch, but doesn't rise.

"You arrived just in time. Hilne is about to describe her dazzling work with the harpoon."

His hand sweeps towards the free chair, as the other gathers the few papers he'd been reading face down onto the table.

"Have a seat."

Comments

[hornswoggle]

Emlyn's giggle is hidden behind a hand. There's a flicker of quieter amusement from John, before he leans an elbow on the table as she passes from their company to the next group as Hilne claps her hands together, signifying either her impressive aim or the death of the Cetus. John's heard her enough times to recognize the marker, but Leander's held his focus tightly enough that he hasn't been listening intently to Hilne's unwinding of the plot.

"I think we've both experienced enough of the Donarks to leave them out of pleasant conversation."

Ha.

"But to my point," because Leander doesn't have to ask. "I find myself curious about the more...unique dealings our neighboring lands take in their association with mages. And who better to ask then someone who's experienced it?"

The joke: as if John doesn't already know some of this, can't extrapolate some of this on his own. But he's never been to Nevarra, and Leander is a known entity where Kostos is not, where Ilias is something to leave undisturbed for the moment, if possible.

[sarcophage]

The clap draws a glance, doesn't hold his attention. His smile has faded; a natural consequence of settling, not unfriendly.

I suppose so, he doesn't answer, but perhaps it comes through anyway in the angle of his head, his eyes, faintly sideways. His index finger tap-taps against his cup. It's not his usual habit, only new since he began to wear a ring, and purely for his own pleasure to feel it there. (Plain steel band, uncommonly thin profile, otherwise unremarkable.)

"What would you like to know?"

[hornswoggle]

Nothing, John doesn't say.

The aversion hasn't faded. John keeps the apprehension separate, held back from view. Isaac's tutelage has eased him towards more subtle, traditional uses of his abilities but it hasn't dispelled the unease and at times, revulsion at the growing familiarity with magic.

He lifts his cup, tips it idly as he speaks.

"Oh, I don't know. You hear so many rumors, it's hard to know what's rooted in truth," John says. "I hear in Nevarra there are mages with as much influence as kings."

[sarcophage]

Leander hums low, gives his wine a few lazy swirls.

"That depends on the king, I suppose." Some kings being significantly more pliant than others. Literal puppetry, anyone? "It seems unlikely our latest Pentaghast has as much of an ear for them. But you wouldn't be a fool to believe it."