CLOSED | two logs one cup.

[murderbaby]

WHO: Character(s)
WHAT: Interview with a mudpire / Interview with an elfthing
WHEN: Nowish
WHERE: The Library / The Docks
NOTES: N/a atm, will update if needed, tw: mud.

FOR EDGARD.

The library is a quiet place in general, but especially in the earlier morning, when most haven't woken enough to focus on books. Mhavos has always been an early riser, though, and waits in an alcove for Edgard.

It's strange to be genuinely excited. Mhavos has always had a thirst for knowledge, but it gets greater around truly unknowable qualities. Why is this man obsessed with mud? What does he think a book about mud will contain? Is the mud a metaphor? Does he know what a metaphor is?

Mhavos sits with a book in front of him, a candle for better lighting, watered ale and coffee in equal measures. He's taken dictation before. You never know what you may need.

FOR VANADI.

Mhavos is terribly fond of The Greedy Hag.

The sign out front is a cruel caricature of an old Elven woman, but walking inside, one is greeted by the real thing. Matron Tarell has been working on the docks for decades, and knows how to bargain for the best fish, the best prices, and has built up enough goodwill to stake out her own little corner of the world. Mhavos appreciates her tenacity, and the fact that she allows him to take up one of her tables, sometimes for hours, just to eat sparingly and read a book. She never asks why. She never bothers him.

Mhavos takes a seat at the time agreed upon with Vanadi, and tells Tarell that he's expecting a guest. Then he waits, occasionally looking out the window, occasionally reading from a small chapbook he's brought along with him.

Comments

[highborn]

He meets that outstretched hand with both of his, taking and clasping it briefly. He's perfectly familiar with a brisk handshake, he simply chooses to ignore them.

"None at all, thank you," he says, having grown up on banal pleasantries, and slides into his seat after only reluctantly releasing Mhavos's hand back to him. He's quick to drop his chin into a palm, striking a balance between familiar and poised.

"Do you know," he says, sounding thoughtful, "It wasn't until I read your elf treatise that I realized my eyes were doing that trick with the gleam in darkness too. It's very unsettling."

[murderbaby]

Mhavos knows he's easily charmed, but that's a distant thought when faced with a man so obviously charming. He keeps his expression neutral, but his motions are easier, voice gentler, more genuine.

"Really? I'm sorry to hear that. It varies among elves, of course, but in general, we see better than humans, especially in darkness."

[highborn]

He waves his free hand, dismissive.

"Oh, that part's no different, I could always see more clearly through darkness than a human. But the gleam." He huffs. "I suppose this means I ought to have more mirrors in my quarters, that it took me this long."

i? completely lost the notif for this, wtf.

[murderbaby]

It surprises a laugh out of Mhavos. "Careful, now. In Trade, your name sounds rather like vanity." Especially in Mhavos' accent.

notifs have been absolute ass lately, but not consistently enough to catch wise :'|

[highborn]

His smile goes a little wry -- this isn't news to him.

"Alright, fair enough, I'll continue to live in unseen obscurity. One can never be too careful with a name like this."

clearly dreamwidth is haunted.

[murderbaby]

"Then I shan't mention it again. I've no skill for wordplay."

Mhavos considers this, and thinks it wise to change the subject. No one wants to hear about their own failings. "If you're curious, we could always experiment now. If I am trusted to bear witness, of course."

[highborn]

He arches his brows, head tipped with a pleasant sort of inquiry. "Oh? Experiment with the ratio of mirrors in my quarters to vanity? That sounds like quite a project."

[murderbaby]

Another laugh. Mhavos picks up the candle sitting on the table, and pulls out a small matchbox.

"I'm not nearly so forward. A single light will do the trick."

[highborn]

His gaze drops briefly to the candle, then back up up again to Mhavos. The gleam in his eyes isn't really in question here, but he doesn't at all mind the thought of this gentleman gazing deeply into his eyes, even if only for a moment. He smiles.

"Certainly, then let the experiment begin."

[murderbaby]

There is a moment where Mhavos things something has gotten away from him, an implication he has missed. It stretches on as he lights the candle, holding it and staring into the flame.

Pointless worry. He can't do anything about it. Best move on.

He reaches up to shade his eyes, and moves the candle about until it's at the angle that he knows will make his eyes shine. Yes, he has checked in the mirror. He imagines every elf in Thedas has, if they've the opportunity.

"There," he says, before moving the candle and his hand. "That's generally the easiest way to check. I've heard Elven parents play a similar game with their children."

[highborn]

It's a strange look, like some wild creature out in the darkness — sort of jarring in such a civilized face. Vanadi leans over the table, chin in his hands, and admires. His gaze doesn't shift as the candle moves.

"And this is in every elf, this little trick?"

[murderbaby]

"I've never heard of one that didn't. Though," he pauses, still holding the candle, studying Vanadi. Yes, he's missing something here. For him, a bold move-- "You're the only elf I've ever seen need to... check over."

Mhavos is, shockingly, a poor hand at flirting, but he's beginning to suspect that's what's going on, here. It would be rude not to try, wouldn't it?

[highborn]

He leans a little further in, submitting to the light of the flame as he shields his eyes, as Mhavos had done. From the right angle, his eyes do indeed glow in just the same way.

"Well?" he asks, regardless. "Does it look as it should? As a Rifter, it would make sense if there were some aberration, perhaps an odd color..."

[murderbaby]

"No, no," Mhavos says with a smile. He holds the candle in place. "From here, it's unmistakable. Quite striking."

[highborn]

"That's good of you to say," he says, dropping his hand without sitting back any. "Here I'd been thinking it was a bit unsettling to see from myself, but — well, seeing it in your eyes has changed my mind somewhat. You really do make it look good, you know."

A little heavy handed, maybe. So he grins, blows out the candle with a quick puff, and sits back again to something more comfortable.

[murderbaby]

"At best, I look like some exotic nocturnal pet. You have some dignity to your bearing; it's nothing to be discounted."

Bringing himself down to compliment another is a far easier thing, and comes to Mhavos' tongue smoothly. He orders them food with a few simple hand gestures; there aren't that many things on the menu.

[highborn]

He's agreeable to the order, not much minding what Mhavos asks of the kitchen. He'll eat it (probably; he'd eat around any meat), so it's hardly an issue. And when they're alone again at their table, his smile goes playful.

"Really, though. Dignity to my bearing. I already told you I liked your bit on elves, you flatterer, what more do you want?"

[murderbaby]

Mhavos blinks a bit slowly, clearly surprised. "It was... it was only the truth."

The tips of his ears are going slightly pink, but he rallies himself despite that. Or perhaps because; he can't change his reaction, but he can move forward.

"You are the one that suggested this meeting. I'm only acquiescing, though I won't pretend as though I don't enjoy your company."

[highborn]

His smile pricks briefly into a grin, there and then gone again with a shift in his seat.

"And I am very grateful for it, never think otherwise," he's quick to assure. "Picking up on the rules of a new world is slow going, you know. I really can use all the help I can get."

Not entirely true, his progress has been fast, but it does make a great excuse for a friendly lunch.

[murderbaby]

Mhavos allows himself a brief expression of skepticism. "Tell me, how long have you been in," ahem, "the area?"

[highborn]

Oh, that's a good question. He pauses to consider it, gaze finding a wall over Mhavos's shoulder as a resting point.

"Ah ... it was late spring when I arrived. Half a year, then? Time has felt somewhat slippery."

[murderbaby]

Amused, Mhavos replies, "I wonder what sort of questions you could still have?" And then, lightly sarcastic, "beyond your striking eyes and noble bearing, of course."

[highborn]

His gaze slides, Mhavos becoming the next thoughtful resting point for a few seconds. This would be an excellent place to keep up the light and slightly flirty banter, and he would think of nothing else in his old life.

Today, though, he says, "They're about elves, largely. I've come to expect the poor treatment from humans, but I'm having a bit of difficulty wrangling anything but wariness from elves."

[murderbaby]

Ah.

"Have you yet met Thranduil?"

[highborn]

Met, no, but — "The extraordinarily old fellow?"