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 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?"

[highborn]

"An adventurer, yes," he concedes with a tiny twist of a smile at one corner of his mouth. "I'm a swordsman, when necessary. Before I left home I was something of a duelist, and the skills are somewhat transferable."

[murderbaby]

"Dueling is very popular here, as I'm to understand it. I read a book on popular Antivan and Rivaini styles of fighting, once..."

He shakes his head. That will just bore Vanadi, and Mhavos dearly doesn't want that. "Your name, Vanadi de Vadarta. In Orlais that frequent denotes a toponym. Is there a Vadarta you are from?"

[highborn]

He wouldn't not be bored, but regardless does appreciate the topic change. That's one for another day, maybe.

"Vadarta is the name of my parents' estate, yes," he says. "Really, it's a bit useless here. I may as well drop it, I've thought."

[murderbaby]

That gets a clear sign of surprise from Mhavos, some surreptitious blinking. "Their estate."

[highborn]

He nods, resigned to having this talk again. He can understand why it's necessary, of course; illiterate elves was unthinkable to Vanadi, and his former lifestyle is doubtless unthinkable to elves here.

"The elven city of Althusa was quite wealthy," he starts. "Wealthy, prestigious, renowned for art and architecture. All that. They tolerated other peoples in the city, but the hierarchy was clear to anyone." He smiles faintly at nothing. "You can imagine my arrival involved a bit of culture shock."

[murderbaby]

Mhavos prefers to keep an expressive face inexpressive for professional reasons; the only sign of shock he allows are hoisted brows, an exhalation, and a murmured, "Créateur..."

He rubs his chin a bit, thinking. "Thranduil had told me something similar, but your story sounds more... believable, less..." a slight roll of the eyes, "Arlathan reborn."

i spelled the name of my own city wrong and i dont care, fuck worldbuilding

[highborn]

Arlathan isn't any name he's heard before, but context suggests a clear enough answer. He nods faintly, and adds helpfully, "If it's worth anything, elves of my world are largely extremely stuffy and boring. I had to work very hard to build a social circle with any personality in it."

ehhhhhhhhhh.

[murderbaby]

A laugh, self-depreciating. "I'm sure I'd have fit right in. You were the odd man out, I take it?"

[highborn]

"Oh, please, give yourself some credit," he says, but does quirk a smile. "You'd have been well-liked, though. And, yes, been a better fit than me."

[murderbaby]

"No, no, I give myself no credit at all. Far more rewarding when I manage to get something right." A small laugh. He is enjoying himself, dammit.

A waitress brings over crabcakes served over greens, and Mhavos pulls out a fork to begin picking at his food. "It takes all kinds. I stick out like a sore thumb among nearly all groups of elves. You'll find more malcontents in Riftwatch than paragons of social models."

[highborn]

"Happy to hear it, malcontents are always better company," Vanadi says, quick to turn his attention to the newly arrived food. He picks at it with interest; seafood is relatively new to him.

"So," he says, around a cautious bite, "I believe that covers what I did and what elves are like, yes? We're making progress."

[murderbaby]

"Yes," Mhavos says, voice light, "you're freed from the burden of inquiry. I myself came to my work from being one of the rare elves who could read and do sums, so my contract was traded though noble circles in Orlais."

A leading gesture, and so on. He eats his crab with the other hand.

[highborn]

"Your contract." He remembers this part, the other half of the distressing early years story, the servitude. It hadn't left his mind, and it's time to examine this part a little more closely now.

"That isn't still the case, is it?" Please say it's not, he's not sure what he would do.

[murderbaby]

"Indentured servitude," Mhavos says, irony cutting his words a bit sharp, "slavery is, of course, illegal in the South."

He takes another bite of his food, thinking on how to tell this story. "My former master came to Kirkwall and lost significantly at gambling. To cover her losses, she rendered my contract up, and it was immediately torn to pieces by the members of Riftwatch who won it. I chose to work here out of gratefulness, but I've come to genuinely enjoy it."

[highborn]

Oh, thank god. He smiles, something genuinely relieved and pleased. "Who was involved in winning it?"