faderift | (no subject)

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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. ]

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[ Playfully: ] Hm. I'd take offense at you treating me like a cheap floozy, favors in return for food, except that that breakfast last time was so good that I know you're actually treating me like a high-priced courtesan. So - yes. Absolutely.

[ A joke, of course, and he does smile at it, but he still can't resist: ] I'm not. You do know I'm not treating you any such way, yes? Humor me with reassurance.

[ A little tilt of his head. He considers protesting that there'd be nothing wrong with it if he were, that he's done favors for far less appealing people for far less - But the fellow is so curiously earnest that Byerly says: ]

Of course not. Honestly, dear fellow, I'd worry about your business sense if that were the case. I don't think you give recompense for earning the privilege to treat someone wonderfully, hm?

[ And then, a little quietly, but kindly: ]

You were kicked around a bit, eh? Right before you came here?

[ It is exactly the requested reassurance, and some of his unnecessary guilt does indeed evaporate. They seem to be back to pity again, with that, but Vanadi supposes he deserves as much.

He sighs lightly, and tips his head to the side as he tugs the high neck of his shirt a little lower. There's that long, pink scar across his neck. ]

I got this from a woman I was really quite sure I liked, not so long ago.

It looks rather dangerous, you know.

[ That's a compliment. Not dangerous in the that-could-have-killed-you way (though obviously it could have), but rather dangerous in the it-makes-you-look-dashing way. ]

Why did she do it? If you ever found out. [ A shrug - ] I've a scar or two I still don't fully understand.

No, I did find out.

[ Casual is the air he aims for, but he falls short somewhere into uncomfortably distant. He tries for a smile regardless and it comes out lopsided. ]

I'll tell you for a kiss. And the story of your one or two.

A kiss, hm?

[ He delivers...in the form of a sweet, chaste little peck on the forehead. ]

[ He takes it with an offended huff, but the smile is already looking healthier. ]

Oh, come. A lover's blade to the throat? It's a better story than that.

[ He grins, and then puckers his lips obscenely and makes a terrible mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah noise as he smack-kisses the tip of Vanadi's nose. What a fuckin' menace.

Then he moves down to kiss him properly on the lips. ]

[ Thanks so much, By. But that third try is better, appreciated, and as they part Vanadi leans to snatch one more quick second or two. He's not left that comfortingly close proximity yet when he upholds his end of the deal, quietly. ]

It was for a ritual. They needed a "beloved" component. Lucky me, as I always did attach rather quickly.

Ah.

[ By knows little of blood magic, but that does sound like some classic blood magic-y bullshit. ]

Did you survive it? Or...? [ There are a few Rifters who've come here on the precipice of their death, as he understands it. ]

[ Counting himself well among the precipice of death lot, or maybe even just after that, Vanadi regardless nods. ]

I did. Ah. Supernatural intervention.

[ And it's going to sound a lot more like blood magic if he keeps going, which he understands is widely regarded as bad news around here.

A shift, then, as he reaches for that bottle he'd brought: ] This is meant for context, I do want you to know. I don't enjoy this little stroll down memory lane, all of this is best forgotten — but I'd prefer you not think my every nervous flinch is anything to do with you.

Edited 2020-10-04 18:21 (UTC)

[ A hesitation, and then a little tilt of his head. There's a dose of honesty in it when he says: ]

I appreciate it. Frankly. People around me occasionally assume my intentions are villainous. Something to do with the mustache, I suspect. Not my favorite thing in the world, though it can have its advantages.

[ He stubs out the blunt, now expended, and holds up his hand. His pinky finger is crooked. ]

This one isn't salacious, or romance-based, so it may be a bit of a disappointment, but it is my greatest mystery. When I was younger, I had a cousin who enjoyed breaking my fingers. Still don't understand why. I suppose there are just people who are like that.

[ It's a welcome and appreciated change of subject, even if he'd taken pains to make sure there would be one. He'd noticed that finger and its crook previously, but to think it's from as far back (relatively speaking, for a human) as childhood? His brows arch upward. ]

There are, as a rule. But fingers, plural? Did either set of parents have anything to say about it?

Oh, yes.

[ He pitches his voice a little higher: ]

You must be more careful, Byerly.

[ A briefly curled lip sums up his thoughts on that. He reaches a hand to trace an idle finger down the outside edge of Byerly's hand in question, wrist to pinky's tip. ]

Dare I ask what that cousin grew up to become?

Oh, he's likely to inherit the Bannorn.

[ His smile is rather twisted and bitter. ]

Ah, justice.

What was his name?

[ Asked casually, just in case he ever gets a chance to use the information. You never know. ]

Richars. Rutyer, obviously.

[ A little quirk of his lips. ]

Avoid him, if you have the chance. He is, unsurprisingly, shitty to elves.

[ It's still casual if he asks for the where alongside the who, right? He's going for it. ]

And -- remind me, my geography lessons are a work in progress, how far from here is he likely to be?

[ That quirk turns into a smile. ]

Sail due south and you'll hit it.

[ He nods, and tucks that away. He'll look into it later, see if he might be able to offer the region a small favor, at some point. ]

I can't imagine you're exactly in contact, or keeping up with whatever he may be up to these days, hm?

Oh, I keep an eye out.

[ His voice is mild. But there's a glint in his eye that's rather...intense. Then, a breath - ]

Why, dear fellow? Going to avenge me?

[ It would be so easy to lie, to brush this off as interest, to cling to his uselessness and unwillingness to fight. He considers the words for a few seconds, then huffs a quick sigh. ]

What would you think of it?

I suppose it would depend on what you did.

[ He reaches out to toy with a tendril of Vanadi's hair. ]