CLOSED | if being strong's your kind,

[murderbaby]

WHO: Vanadi, Athessa, Mhavos.
WHAT: stupid elf drama.
WHEN: post-the post-murderhaus log.
WHERE: Somewhere in Lowtown
NOTES: Emotional and romantic drama is the point of a fantasy wargame.

There is a reason Mhavos generally avoids any communal drinking activity, and it's rather obvious: he doesn't drink, and doesn't commune. He doesn't loathe them. He just doesn't feel comfortable at them, and however well they go, he's happy to be rid of them.

Anyway, he's been nervous all night, because... well, because he doesn't want to hurt anyone. Walking out onto the street, he makes a few quick strides to catch up with Athessa, hoping Vanadi, nearby, is out of earshot.

"I-... need to speak with you. It's of... well, of some import." Yet he's staring directly at Vanadi's back. What an utter master of subtlety.

Comments

[sulahnan]

"Filed in triplicate? Six months in advance?"

[highborn]

He groans. "No, no. Absolutely not. I plan to one day be crushed to death under many bodies in the throes of passion, and there will be no time at all for any of that."

[murderbaby]

Mhavos hums. "I don't believe I have a form for that."

[sulahnan]

Athessa makes a face. "You sure about that? I mean you'd have to be the first to go in order to avoid all the deeply unsexy bodily fluids that happen after death."

[highborn]

"Well, the plan is for this to be a tragic accident — with any luck I'll be the only victim. Then it will be everyone else's concern."

[murderbaby]

"I am not taking inventory of fluids. That's not remotely how personnel notarization works." Still deadpan.

[sulahnan]

"And I refuse to have my sexual prowess tarnished by your tragic demise, Vanadi."

[highborn]

He huffs his offense, one hand briefly resting on his chest. "I hope you're not both suggesting I change my plans. I've dreamed of this death for fifty years."

[murderbaby]

"So think it over for fifty more," Mhavos grumbles. The thought that others plan their deaths sits oddly-- but Vanadi is likely joking. "Regardless, I refuse to put that in the registrar."

[sulahnan]

"Surely under our present circumstances," Athessa says with a sweeping gesture that briefly turns her about to face them, walking backwards. "You have new variables to take into account."

Present circumstances being that Vanadi is no longer on Rune, no longer the same sort of elf as he was, no longer wealthy, no longer beholden to a demon, and so on and so forth.

[highborn]

He does take her meaning, but quirks a sharp smile regardless as he picks a different interpretation.

"True," he says, "Perhaps with two lovely distractions, I won't even make it to that fatal orgy."

[murderbaby]

"Please stop implying sex will somehow kill you," Mhavos says, eyes skyward. "I've enough neuroses."

[sulahnan]

"What's the Orlesian word for orgasm?"

She's aware it's actually orgasme, not le petit mort, but she's banking on Mhavos appreciating her knowing enough Orlesian to make the joke in the first place.

[murderbaby]

Mhavos enjoys the joke, and especially enjoys how it will fly over Vanadi's head, because he's a prick. He grins and puts thumb and finger together. "Only a little one."

[highborn]

He looks from one to the other, eyebrows arched expectantly, and sighs when he realizes no help is coming. "This is distinctly unfair," he mutters. And then accusingly, to Athessa, "How much Orlesian do you know?"

[sulahnan]

She offers a helpless shrug and a moue of regret, then turns around to be able to see where she's going.

"Only a little."

[murderbaby]

"Un peu," Mhavos reaches up to pat Vanadi's shoulder consolingly. "Absolument."

[highborn]

He sighs at Athessa, who has clearly thrown him to the wolves, and delivers a flat look to Mhavos that nearly borders on glare. He doesn't quite have the energy for a full glare.

Then he stands himself a little straighter, squares his shoulders, and delivers a scolding-sounding diatribe in a flowing and graceful language that's never been spoken in Thedas. It's a full-on rambling monologue as he stalks after Athessa, gesticulating and emphasizing frequently.

[sulahnan]

He nearly stalks into Athessa, who slowed nearly to a stop to turn and boggle at him, then had to hop-skip a few steps onward to avoid both being collided with and colliding with a storage barrel on the side of the street.

"What is that?"

[murderbaby]

"An inspired monolog from a talented performer." Golf claps. "I'm very impressed."

[highborn]

He sweeps into a quick but tidy bow, adds one more quick, "Obrigado, obrigado," and gives up the prickly-offended tension in his shoulders. It was just half-hearted, anyway. For Athessa, he adds, "Aluthsan. A perfectly useless language at this point."

[sulahnan]

"Actually," Athessa draws out the word, giving it some thought. "If you'd be willing to teach enough of it to the Scouting Division for us to use it on missions..."

They could communicate without anyone else in Thedas being able to understand them.

[murderbaby]

"Clever," Mhavos says, as though he's not quietly fantasizing about learning the language already.

[highborn]

"Oh," he says, because that is clever, but largely because he pictures the absolute outrage his parents would've had to restrain at the thought of their delicate and courtly language being used probably brokenly, and in such rough situations. He grins. "I would very much be willing. So long as I would be permitted to teach everyone only the barest basics of grammar, to have us all sounding like idiots. I'd like that."

[sulahnan]

"Um...okay, not that any of us will be able to tell otherwise. But why?"