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

[murderbaby]

Thrandruil is only seven foot, but when you're barely five, one is prone to exaggerate. Anyway, he's making a point.

"No, no. I think I see some of the difficulty you have." He picks up the salt shaker and the pepper. "Conventional wisdom tells us that there are only two types of elf, city," he touches the salt, "and Dalish." The pepper.

"The reality is much more complicated, for there is marked enmity between these disparate tribes, and-" he pours some salt and pepper onto the table, mixes them with his finger, "even less kindness shone toward those who do not fit squarely within the boundary of one or the other."

And then he reaches for the vinegar, setting it away from both. "And we have those like you and Thranduil, entirely separate from either, a mystery and a danger to both pride and classification."

[highborn]

He watches Mhavos more than the tabletop display, but does at least cast a glance down for that salty, peppery mix. It's a clear enough example, and he is interested in Mhavos's thoughts on the matter of that bottle of vinegar ... but of greater interest to him, "Where is it you would say you fall?"

[murderbaby]

Mhavos offers up his answer with little hesitation; it's a fact of life, something that was once known by everyone he knew. "Unacceptably neither. My Alienage was purged when I was four; an unexpected survivor, I was signed into servitude immediately. The dispossessed... well, suffice to say even city elves consider me flat-eared."

[highborn]

He nods faintly. That Mhavos doesn't fit in with what Vanadi has seen so far was obvious, but it would be a lie to say he'd not wondered at the extent of it.

"Purged." His lips press together briefly. "Is that what it sounds like?"

[murderbaby]

How to explain this fundamental fact of Mhavos' life, the very fabric of his universe... clinically. He will do it clinically.

"They are more common in Orlais," Mhavos says, "Most of the horrors visited upon elves are more common in Orlais, in the southern part of the world. Humans come and burn the Alienage down. The front gates are locked from the outside..." Mhavos shrugs. "If memory holds, I happened to be running an errand or somesuch."

[highborn]

He flinches, his gaze dropping away to the table. This was stupid. He could ask probably anyone else about this, hell, he's certain it would be written in some book somewhere, if he wanted to avoid people entirely with it.

Quietly, he says, "I'm sorry. You really don't have to oblige my curiosity."

[murderbaby]

Mhavos frowns. He lets Vanadi have a moment-- clearly he's upset the man-- wherein he clears the table of excess salt and pepper, sprinkling it out an open window. He clears his throat, then, to get Vanadi's attention.

"You've no reason to apologize," he says, "I'm not ashamed of it, nor do I really even remember the incident. If anything, I'm glad you now know, to guard yourself against it."

[highborn]

"Ashamed is not a word I'd have ascribed it," he murmurs, but sits himself up a little straighter. He's not certain what to think of ... any of this. He has no community with elves here, not really, but he can't feel nothing at the mental image of a purge. He runs a hand through his hair with a quick sigh.

"I'd like to know you better, but — I don't mean to stir up unpleasant memories, is all."

[murderbaby]

"You haven't," Mhavos says, "moreover, you can't. I don't discuss the things that truly bother me."

A shrug. He stares out the window, wondering if he's botched this, or if it's something else. Compassion? How unwieldy. "Does that suffice for mystique? Certainly the best I can manage."

[highborn]

If surviving the death of what Vanadi assumes was his family and nearly everyone he'd known doesn't bother Mhavos, Vanadi can't imagine what would. He does spend at least a second or two making the attempt, but that's not a particularly sunny train of thought and he gives it up quickly.

"How did you come by your job?" he asks, too happy to leave other topics swiftly behind for a segue. "Librarian, wasn't it?"

[murderbaby]

Mhavos laughs, because it genuinely is funny. "You won't like that story, either."

[highborn]

Both brows arch up, and incredulously, "I — hate to consider why. I had always figured any job among books to be about as mundane as jobs get."

[murderbaby]

Mhavos ducks his head-- still smiling-- and spreads his hands. "Many-- most-- elves are illiterate."

[highborn]

He blinks, looking genuinely startled by the news. It had truly never occurred to him that might be the case, literacy was an accepted fact of life to him a world away. Surprise turns into sudden recollection, then deep chagrin with a belated realization.

"Oh, gods. I wish I'd realized that sooner." He sinks a little, fingers splaying over his mouth as he mentally replays a few scenes. "I've been an ass."

[murderbaby]

"You haven't, you entirely haven't," he waves a hand in Vanadi's direction. "Any you've spoken to before likely chalked it up to a head injury, and I've not had such a cause to laugh in months."

[highborn]

He looks very decidedly guilty, but when he shakes his head it's just regret. "Well," he mutters, "Then at least some good's come of it."

[murderbaby]

"You care," Mhavos says with something that passes for finality in his reedy voice. "That is more than can be said for most, and a sterling quality in a world of apathy. Try not to dwell on it."

[highborn]

Is social faux pas really comparable to caring? Maybe. Regardless, with a sigh, "Distract me from dwelling. Surely your literacy wasn't the only thing that brought you to your job."

[murderbaby]

"No, no," Mhavos waves his hand again. His posture is more relaxed, his smile easier; whatever nerves he felt were gone. "I won't bore you with my thoughts on poetry. You've told me nothing of yourself."

[highborn]

"Oh, I've told you a bit," he says, which is hardly true, but also rather intentional. The change in Mhavos doesn't go unnoticed, and Vanadi wonders faintly if he's responsible for some door closing. There are too many face-down cards between them to know for sure, but he files away the observation.

"My marked lack of success with elves, for one," he continues, and adds a sigh. "That's very embarrassing, you know. I used to pride myself on people-handling skills."

[murderbaby]

Mhavos rolls his eyes, but he's still smiling. "Well, you've handled me keenly, so take heart in that. What is it like, where you're from? What do you do there? What are the elves like? That ought to cover equal ground."

[highborn]

He sighs again, more deeply, like he's just been handed a schoolwork assignment. Which, of course, he has. They are all boring topics as far as he's concerned, all the more for being a world away from relevance, but he supposes a scholar might see it differently.

"I will oblige you purely for your patience and good company," he says, sounding very put-upon. "But you'll have to pick one to start with. Preferably not what is it like, because that's a broader question than I know what to do with."

[murderbaby]

Mhavos' smile turns puckish as he steeples his fingers. "What is your profession, when one is not in a foreign city during a protracted magical war?"

[highborn]

He should have put together a lie for this, really. The truth is distasteful, but ... unfortunately has already been spread to a few ears, while his pride was still in uncaring tatters. He settles for glancing away, speaking sidelong to the window.

"I was a mercenary," he says evenly. "Nothing glamorous, whatever paid enough."

[murderbaby]

"An adventurer," Mhavos says, reading something like regret in Vanadi's voice, "if you're in need of a euphemism, but it sounds rather fascinating to me. Honest work, at the very least. You're some sort of fighter?"