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]

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?"

[murderbaby]

A slight sigh. Mhavos looks out the window with a withering expression. "The Averesch brothers. I suppose I ought to be more grateful, but they're both pillocks."

He looks up at Vanadi. "Unless you are well acquainted with their more sterling features, perpetually hidden from me, in which they are fine citizens of excellent character."

[highborn]

The pronouncement twitches a grin into place, because above all else, Vanadi does love a little bit of shittalk. He shakes his head, though.

"I've done little more than learn they exist, so I'm perfectly willing to believe you," he says. "Though I'd like to point out that one sterling feature might be having the bit of decency to rip it up."

[murderbaby]

"I am picky about motivation," Mhavos says, tilting his head one way, than another. "It is one thing to be against forced servitude-- a bare minimum of decency, I believe, one which does not deserve adulation. It is another thing to do it out of concern for another, which I would consider admirable. And a final thing, to do it simply for the thrill of having done it, and damn any consequence or forethought, or any persons impacted in the action."

He nibbles at his food. "You may guess I accuse my saviors of the latter."

[highborn]

His brows twitch upward, because that is quite the twist on the tale to consider, but ... would he feel the same? If someone had saved him from his despised captor, would there have been anything in his heart but simpering relief? Vanadi considers that thoughtfully, and stares at the food he's been forking around as if he might find the answer there.

"Mm," is the conclusion he finally comes to, a non-committal sound that could be agreement if you listened to it right. "It remains a somewhat fraught relationship then, I take it. How do the Averesches treat you now?"

[murderbaby]

He waves his hand dismissively. "I doubt they remember the incident. And all the better for it. I find their company difficult, and would not wish to be rude, after everything."