(no subject)

[highborn]

WHO: Byerly n Vanadi
WHAT: a stray cat (elf) slides around for a visit
WHEN: Third week of August
WHERE: Byerly's place
NOTES: n/a

[ Vanadi has had quite a week, and would like nothing more than to never think of any of it again. That's probably not very likely, but he can at least find some kind of distraction -- which is the thought that brings him to Byerly's door late in the evening, a bottle of gin in hand. He's not certain the man is home -- or even if he'll be welcome in such unannounced circumstances. Or perhaps Byerly might have company, and not be the sort of man (or it be the sort of company) to want to share. There are a hundred reasons this may not be precisely the best idea, but Vanadi knocks regardless.

He looks tired, with dark rings under his eyes, thought of course there's a certain weariness that's always with him and this isn't so far past the norm. He pushes it aside as he knocks, standing himself up a little straighter, pushing his shoulders back a little more. It had been the charming and flirtatious face that had first set him on the right foot with Byerly, so in the spirit of taking no chances, that's the face he pulls on as he waits for response. ]

Comments

[bouchonne]

[ When By opens the door, he's accompanied by a cloud of lightly pungent smoke. Not tobacco, from its smell. And when he greets Vanadi - ]

Why, hello.

[ It's with a cheery, slow calm that hints that the properties of this smoke are rather psychoactive. ]

Come on in, stranger.

[highborn]

[ Or, goes on his paranoia, in the few seconds of waiting, perhaps Byerly has realized he'd signed up for more than just the charming and cordial man from Sonia's party, when Vanadi found himself acting nervous and ridiculous the next morning. He may well have had a change of heart and — 

— And there he is. Vanadi is quick with a bright smile ... though the wafting smell is already one he recognizes, and he realizes belatedly he may not precisely need charm for this. He smiles regardless, and does indeed come on in. ]

I've brought gifts.

[ He lifts the bottle, giving it a brief spotlighting shake. It's of a decent vintage, pricey enough not to offend, even if he's quite sure Byerly will have had better. ]

[bouchonne]

I count two of them.

[ His eyes flick to the bottle, and then to Vanadi himself. Then, expansively: ]

Would you like to smoke some elfroot, my sweet elf?

[highborn]

Yes, you're correct, I am the second gift.

[ He settles himself into a chair, one leg crossing over the other. Once again, just like the last time with Byerly, it's magnificently easy to pretend this is all there is to life. With a lazy interest: ]

I certainly wouldn't say no. How do they pair together?

[bouchonne]

Like tea and sugar, good fellow.

[ Byerly passes over a blunt - half-smoked, generously rolled. ]

Have you never had it before?

[highborn]

Not yet.

[ He leans to accept it, and, of course, hesitates as some of his determined lazy indulgence evaporates. But — no, he's here specifically to relax, and Byerly probably doesn't want him dead. He takes a slow, practiced inhale, holds, and releases in an easy cloud.]

I suppose I ought to have asked for a detail or two first, but I've picked up the general idea of it. [ He casts a glance over. ] Why is it called elfroot?

[bouchonne]

[ Waving his hands vaguely - ]

Elves...roots. Who knows. Elfy things are mysterious.

[highborn]

They aren't, really. [ One more drag, and he hands the blunt back. ] They're just pretentious.

[bouchonne]

[ A deep drag. Then he releases his breath in a very impressive smoke ring. ]

That's a spicy opinion.

hey!!!! guess who never got this notif. >:(

[highborn]

[ Oh, that is impressive. He grins lazily, tracking the fading circle with his gaze. ]

Well, I can't say it applies to elves of this world, I suppose I hardly know them. They might be perfectly inscrutable.

[bouchonne]

[ He laughs, and passes over the drugs once more. ]

No, they really aren't. They spend a dreadful amount of time shouting.

[highborn]

Mm, that does tend to take from anyone's mystique.

[ He accepts happily enough, takes a drag, and considers it for a few seconds. It -- elves, elves of this world, the differences between worlds, drugs. It all. ]

Have you known many elves?

[bouchonne]

Hm. Known, or known?

[highborn]

[ His smile edges into a faint grin. ]

Let’s have both.

[bouchonne]

Perhaps a dozen of the latter? As for the former -

[ A shrug. ]

Countless. Elves are numerous in the low, disgraceful places I favor.

[highborn]

[ Just the opposite of what he'd expect, as expected. As far as the former goes, at least. He nods faintly, thoughtful.

Then, a little less thoughtful: ]

What is it with the -- [ He gestures to his un-tattooed forehead. ]

[bouchonne]

[ Hm? ]

The what? The face? The heartbreaking handsomeness?

[highborn]

Please. [ So that's what it feels like to have it turned on you. He sighs. ] No, the tattoos -- or is it simply painted on?

[bouchonne]

Oh, that.

[ He puffs out smoke. ]

I think that's a Dalish thing.

[highborn]

[ That means nothing to him, thanks buddy. ]

Ask a Dalish then, is that it?

[bouchonne]

[ A shrug of confirmation. ]

Athessa's a Dalish, though I'd be careful if you want to bring it up with her - she lost her clan rather young, so it's a sensitive topic. Gwenaelle is elf-blooded, but I would strongly advise you never to say anything of that remotely within her earshot.

[highborn]

[ With eyebrows arching up: ] I don't suppose you know any well balanced elves I might speak with on it?

[bouchonne]

Certainly not here, in Riftwatch. [ But... ] I've a few acquaintances in Kirkwall proper.

[highborn]

[ He gives that a few seconds of thought ... then waves it off. ]

I feel I should get to know more about the elves of this world, but I confess it's difficult to feel truly invested in them. Those more immediately in front of me are much more interesting.

[bouchonne]

Like myself, for instance?