Facing Demons & Taking Chances (Faust pls)

[Faust D'Rinishad]

OOC: beautiful post =)

Gauging from Viskyia’s insightfulness, Faust suspected that she was of likeminded opinion as him in regards to happiness. Existence itself was full of indefatigable sorrows, but these sorrows were not necessarily meaningless. They had ways of rendering different perspectives on life and elucidating that which might not otherwise have been seen. “Spoken like a true poet.” the Vysstichi Lord commented with a thin smile, a compliment that Viskyia was well-deserving of. “Sadly, though, many people pass away without realizing that happiness cannot be purchased with comfort or luxury. As you beautifully phrased it, the smallest cut of a gem or a single dip of a sword can be more fulfilling than a dragon’s horde of treasure. Lucky indeed, you and I are, to know this.”

A deep sigh disturbed the dark elf’s eloquence as he considered another dear friend of his, a woman whose life was surrendered to misery because of an imprudent marriage and thankless occupation. Despite fervent attempts to dissuade her from her respective course, she had nevertheless endeavored towards her ambitions –and ultimately to succeed without any anticipated sense of achievement. When the Prince of Har’oloth turned to Viskyia, though, he was confident that the intuitive woman would never err as his beloved friend had.

Faust’s customary smile returned to illuminate his features as Viskyia confessed her interest in embarking to Aelyria Prime with him, an interest which, he admitted, was surprising even to him. “Soon then.” He said, a subtle reassurance that despite Kedrinus’s legal ownership of her, she would be free soon enough. He continued to listen as she humbly alluded to her kindly treatment of the guards of Nexus Prime, treatment that the people of Medonia similarly provided to him for saving the city during the demon invasion. Subsequently, the Vysstichi Lord could not help but supply a grin in response. “That is exceptionally generous of you. Guard work can be an unrewarding job at times, and I’ve no doubt that they appreciate your kindness. In my experiences, at least, most people assigned to the city gates are seldom acknowledged let alone handsomely paid. For you to entertain them in your thoughts is admirable indeed. If only there were more people in this world with such compassionate hearts.”

Normally the Vysstichi Lord would have punctuated his praise with a short-lived fit of laughter, but there was something about Viskyia’s words, perhaps a minor detail, that repressed the instinct. A half-orc? As he considered the emotions surrounding the manner in which Viskyia alluded to her friend, the dark elf merely nodded. Truth be told, he harbored no fondness for orcs, and significantly less for those from Ire. Many patterns ago, the Prince of Har’oloth had sojourned to the orcish capital to recruit Vysstichi personnel from the surrounding villages. That optimistic venture had resulted in a major blunder, one that involved his being apprehended by the orcish authorities and subjected to torture beyond mortal imagination. Ever since then the mere mentioning of that abominable race nerved him, though for the sake of being sensitive to Viskyia and her friend, the dark elf reserved a small nod instead of a bitterly painted countenance.

He was grateful for the change of subject.

“Yes, from a bird’s eye view.” the dark elf cryptically said, his cheer renewed. “It has been some time since he and I have traveled the winds, and I am sure that he would enjoy carrying another through the experience. If you’ve a sturdy stomach then I’ve no doubt that you will fancy the ride, but if you’re like me, and by Carmelya I hope that you are not, then it may be better to simply watch from the ground as he ascends into the air.” There was discernible excitement in the Prince of Har’oloth’s tone as he spoke of Sarnor, his gryphon companion, and so much to the point that he forgot that he’d failed to elucidate the creature’s identity to Viskyia.

When the half-elf shared of her limited choice in comrades, though, Faust’s laugh resulted. “An abjurer?” He incredulously asked. The dark elf’s crimson orbs widened in amusement as he pointedly glanced Viskyia up and down. To him, at least, she did not seem the type that dabbled with the dead, but Faust supposed that everyone possessed hobbies of their own. “That is a dangerous trade. Admittedly I have no experience whatsoever with that type of work, but I am guessing that it is intriguing or else you would have abandoned your friend a long time ago? Or perhaps she is simply that good of a friend?” He asked with a shrug, silver brows rising questioningly. Moranor Andares, the Governor of Enamoria, had once attempted to explain to Faust the purpose of consoling the spirits of the dead, but sadly the young Prince had been more confused than anything else at the time.

“But yes, I see your point, Mirrow does seem the more preferable of the three.” After a candid chuckle, Faust’s demeanor did become more serious when Viskyia (intentionally or not) shared about something considerably sensitive with him. He offered a candid smile in support. “I do not know what it’s like, but I can imagine the difficulties that you’ve experienced. Perhaps it was for the best though.” He suggested, raking the bottom of his chin thoughtfully as he prepared his next words, “Dark elves of any kind aren’t ordinarily accepted, but as you are partially human, at the very least it enables you to put a foot in the door with both races –however limited an extent. Still, it’s more than I can do.” To emphasize his point, the Vysstichi Lord gestured to his ebony skin, waving both hands downwards along his sides for both show and to brighten the woman’s spirits. He knew enough of Viskyia to understand that she did not pity herself (and she shouldn’t have), but he did imagine the loneliness that might often haunt her at times.

To not belong was difficult enough, but to neither belong to one race nor the other was worse entirely.

The dark elf was grateful for Viskyia’s laughter shortly afterwards. He adored her when she laughed. She was the type of person, he could tell, who seldom subscribed to the emotions of laughter or joy. It wasn’t that she was a stoic, but the woman seemed, well, more reserved –and rightfully so. Given her experiences Faust was astonished that she’d even come to him for help in the first place, but he was delighted that she had. There was something about her presence, the true authenticity of her displayed feelings perhaps, that he had come to cherish. Unlike many who masked their sentiments behind flowery words and other pretensions, what Faust saw of Viskyia was who she really was.

“The food is fairly exquisite in Arakmat.” He continued to answer. As he did so, however, he noted her hesitance before proceeding through the gates into the estate’s courtyard. Having recognized her caution for what it was, Faust merely waited to dispel her unease. “Come…it’s okay…” The dark elf assured, and he instinctively held out his hand to her again. He was not offended by her vigilance; he probably would have acted similarly under her circumstances. But for whatever reason that Viskyia had paused, the dark elf vowed to provide her with an atmosphere of friendship whereby she might never respond similarly around him again. She his company, his guest, and his friend. The latter concept of the aforementioned three was heartwarming for him to think about.

As the dark elf and half-Esh’lahier continued down the cobblestone pathway towards the mansion, rows of elegantly arranged flowers flanked their route of travel. Strangely, many of these included ropy vines of thorns subsequent of the various roses assorted on each side of the walkway, and these spiky entrails seemed more abundant than the flowers themselves –perhaps it was a trick of the eye. Nevertheless, the flora was elegantly maintained despite the absence of any gardeners currently about, and the air was redolent of pollen and jasmine.

“Where was I…” the dark elf pondered, “Oh yes, Arakmat, fine food but a terrible place to live. The heat is scorching year round and the sand has ways of infiltrating city gates and mixing with one’s food. Not a good thing.” Faust said with a chuckle. “And thank you…” He replied in response to Viskyia’s compliment of the estate, “It belonged to an acquaintance of mine shortly before he passed away. I don’t come here very often, but it does serve its purposes when family visits or friends drop into Vortex for a breather. Speaking of which, how are things in Nexus Prime? I haven’t been there in, well, years. I’ve wanted to return to the city to visit a few friends, but sadly I haven’t had the time as of late.”

[Viskyia Crow]

Viskyia studied Faust as he spoke of Arakmat, and chuckled slightly at his words. "Indeed? There are a great many people that live there though. I've heard stories. One of the businessmen near my gem shop in the Private Trade Circle is a rugmaker from that region. The wild tales he tells astonishes me... though I happen to think they are true. It makes me want to see the desert at sunrise and sunset and ride a camel... though the locus swarms and the near starvation... not to mention the droughts... I'd not be sure if that was a good tradeoff or not." She said thoughtfully. "The silks though... the fabrics and weaving from that region are amazing. I love the textures and vibrant colors. They are infinitely better than what we get in Nexus. Maybe the people overcompensate for the drab sandy environment, but whatever causes it... Lords... its something I do appreciate. When I was newly come to Nexus Prime, I scrounged materials and made a great copper chandelier and traded it to that rugmaker for one of his rugs just so I could enjoy one, even if it was a small thing, in the gem shop every day. Titus Crow was... amused. " In that statement, her carefully reined in femininity peeked through, probably moreso than she realized, expressing such pleasure in the textures of silks and brocades.

It was then she relaxed. Faust has an interesting ability to distract her, loosen her up, and take her mind off what might have been bothering her. Interesting.

The rest of what he said piked her interest. She didn't really respond to his statement about Nydardomond. Why would she? Most people didn't understand such friendships or misplaced loyalties as they saw them. Especially a half-orc. What she did say though, finally, after the conversation had slipped away and moved on, seemed almost like an afterthought. It was more in response to what he'd said about dark elves not being accepted. "People don't understand that which is strange to them. Most people can't get past....." And with that she reached out with the hand that wasn't holding his, and touched his ebony skin with her fingers, trailing a calloused digit across the back of his hand. "... the color of the skin or eyes. I've come to decide it doesn't matter so much, for all that I discard stones daily for their imperfect coloring. Its different for the living than it is for that which is just form and substance, and not life. Its the same for a name, a brand, or who your people are." It was odd, seeing the black of his flesh contrast so sharply with the white of her own. She glanced up at him and decided once and for all she liked him... really liked him. He infused the very air around him with warmth, with a light and a joy she was unused to.

It was startling and unexpectedly distracting. It was so distracting she almost failed to note how effectively the thorny roses guarded the walls from intruders or kept those within from departing. Wicked things... things who's occasional beauty did not make up for their form and function. She would have burned them all to the ground and planted Daltina Sterling Roses there... soft delicate blue violent things that she could run her hands up their stems and feel their thick stoic strength as they gave up their fragrances to her.

She sighed and turned to him, refocusing ono the distraction he provided, and letting the fact that his flora was intensely dangerous go..

"Faust...." She found she liked saying his name... his first name. "I get the distinct impression we might as well just accept the fact that it feels like we've known each other for years and years and stop being surprised by it... even fighting it. It's a pleasant development. I'm glad I came, my friend. So you said you are rarely here... where do you mainly live?" And with that she relaxed and smiled at him, giving into the moment and the fact that indeed she was visiting a friend, no matter that it was one she just made.

The conversation brought them up to the house proper and into it. She looked around with interest, not bothered in the least. It was a truly lovely place, but one that seemed to her slightly cold, perhaps impersonal. It didn't feel really lived in. And that made her curious...

[Faust D'Rinishad]

Faust’s eyes widened amusedly as Viskyia shared of her involvement with the rug dealer. Although a fascinating tale, the content itself did not elicit the Vysstichi Prince’s surprise, but rather the verbose explanation that accompanied it. Unable to contain his grin, Faust chuckled candidly, instinctively biting his lower lip to prevent it from fanning into a wider smile. This was the first time that he’d seen Viskyia so animated about something, and while a rarity, it was nevertheless something that the Prince of Har’oloth enjoyed seeing immensely. “You just…made a chandelier to trade with?” He incredulously asked, “I absolutely implore you to show me this rug when I next come to Nexus Prime. It must be a fine specimen indeed. If only I possessed such skill to conjure a chandelier so easily…perhaps the rugs in my office would then be more appeasing to the eye as well, possibly even Arakmatian.” Winking, the dark elf chuckled again. Obviously impressed by Viskyia’s many talents, he continued to walk beside the woman, opting for silence as he far preferred the sound of her voice over his.

When she touched his hand, though, the blood beneath his skin immediately flooded his visage, and had it not been for his obsidian painted face, he surely would have assumed the color of a tomato. As always he listened with indefatigable interest, but his eyes, although normally choosing to meet the woman’s citrine own, instead locked ahead of him down the cobblestone path. This was, of course, his only means of veiling his immaturity. When it came to business or conflict, the Prince of Har’oloth was like an unyielding dam against the raging torrents of a river, but with women who enchanted him (and there were sadly few), he was like a blade of grass easily plucked. He did not know how such an event had come to pass considering his limited familiarity with the alluring jeweler, but her appeal, admittedly on a range of multiple levels, was something that he could not possibly ignore.

“No, sadly they cannot.” Faust somberly agreed, briefly glancing to his ebon skin juxtaposed against hers. He did not withdraw his hand from her grasp. “And unfortunately for both of us, not everyone is so willing to try and perceive that which lies beneath. In my experiences at least, Viskyia, most people would rather draw swords and ask questions later than the reverse. The end results are seldom good.” Frowning slightly, the Prince of Har’oloth merely shrugged. He could not begin to count the number of times that he and his companions had been waylaid despite traveling inoffensively. A small smile supplanted the dismal expression shortly later as he looked again to her, his normal cheer mysteriously renewed. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this as I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I tend to be a pessimist about this type of stuff. As much as I agree with you that people should be like you say, I am one of those who sometimes cannot. I don’t like to be, but it’s hard, especially when you’ve had encounters with certain…races that have been less than hospitable more often than not.” He grinned then. “But you have certainly inspired me. I eagerly await the day when I can tell you otherwise, and I’ll definitely work towards it.”

Viskyia’s next words struck Faust like no gift ever could. Turning to regard her, his eyes softened tenderly as his mouth curled into a smile, and he paused precisely as they arrived at the manor’s front door. “I’m glad you came too...” He said, and again he instinctively reverted his gaze to the floor in embarrassment. Like many men, the Prince of Har’oloth oftentimes had a difficult time articulating his feelings, especially the ones that he was beginning to harbor for the woman in front of him. Nevertheless, he prevailed. “Believe it or not, but I don’t have many friends, at least, not people whom I truly consider to be friends. And you’re actually the first person that I’ve ever taken here…” He laughed then, a defense mechanism that he was actually quite unaware of. Only recently did he realize the truth of his own words, and it baffled him that he’d chosen to invite Viskyia over others whom he had known for many years, but this again reminded him that there was something about her, something that differentiated her from the many other people in his life.

He enjoyed her company, he knew. There was no other explanation to it.

“When I’m in Vortex, usually at the Academy.” it was an odd answer considering the Vysstichi Lord’s proven wealth, but the content expression that consumed his features conveyed that he was not embarrassed by this reality. “It’s hard to explain sometimes, but I feel as if I haven’t had a home in years, Viskyia. I’m not sure if you understand…it’s just that the road has taken me in virtually every direction across the Empire. I’m rarely situated for very long, so I suppose that in many ways, the road is where I live.” He chuckled again, “I’m making a fool of myself, aren’t I…”

The cobblestone path ended at a small flight of steps leading to the mansion’s front deck. Four grated windows, two on each side of the main entrance, were covered in drapes, denying perception from the outside world. The doors themselves were white-washed and embroidered by long, vertical knobs fashioned of gold. One of the dark elf’s hands enclosed around the handle, but before he pushed the lever to open it, he looked back to Viskyia., his handsome face chiseled by innocence. “I haven’t been here in patterns and I hardly remember the place at all. I do recall that the first time I came here was alone…perhaps the building hasn’t changed much as far as dreariness goes…but at least I’ll have a companion to explore it with this time around. If we do find anything worthwhile, though, maybe I’ll come back again.” He smiled softly.

[Viskyia Crow]

Viskyia had never let her guard down... not like this, not ever. And she found herself, if just for a brief instant, stepping outside of the boundaries of what she saw sensible and just looking at the scene, as if she were a stranger staring into someone else's life through a thick pane of glass hands pressed to the cold clear view, fingers splayed outward. As she laughed and stared at the Vyssie in disbelief at his confessions about never hardly visiting the lovely estate, about his not being accepted always because of his race, about who he really was... for that was what she felt she was seeing. A real man stood before her, not some facade, some painted image, or a carefully sculpted public face.

And he was as lost as she was.

It didn't strike her all at once. No, it was something that sort of gradually snuck up on her when that detached part of her was standing outside the 'glass' looking in.... looking at him. And it made her smile... not because she liked seeing someone else equally adrift. No.. not at all. It was more likely that she smiled because he showed her so much of himself in such an unguarded way. It brought her out of herself, out from behind her carefully cultivated indifference, and lit her face up. She came back to him then, fully in the now and not detached. And she gave equally what somewhere along the way he'd decided to give her... only herself.. no masks.

And as they raced up the front steps like two kids, still chattering, she turned and pressed herself up against the massive double doors that lead inside the estate. She slipped between the handles and his hand reaching for them before he even had a chance to grasp it. Her citrine eyes glittered with mischief as she forestalled him. "If your such a stranger here, then lets explore it together shall we? It will be our grand adventure into vast dangers unknown. And of course, our first mission is that of a hunt... finding the kitchen and overwhelming the enemies there... subverting them completely to our cause. Dinner." Her eyes twinkled, sparked both with good humor and a whole lot of mischief.

"And while our newly subverted minions do our bidding, we shall climb to the highest towers and make sure no wayward ladies of blood are in need of freeing, or perhaps descent to the lowest dungeons and make sure there are equally no noble men bound in chains. Once thats accomplished... I suggest looting and pillaging for treasure." She left the plans there, her playfullness sudden, unexpected... her eyes bright with mischief. Then she slipped aside, gesturing for him to continue with a sweep of her arm.

Her expression, once more, was quiet more reserved than anything. He might have a moment there, just a brief one, where he could perhaps imagine he'd heard things... fantasized her doing that within his mind. But he'd find, once he opened the door, the twinkle was back as she slipped in right beside him.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

The dark elf’s gloved hand fell short of the door handle by a few inches, separated by the woman’s lithe form. His eyes initially widened in surprise and a question danced at his lips as she impeded his progress, but his quizzical expression soon adjusted to project his feelings, that is, those of amusement and warmth. “I don’t know, milady, it could be dangerous.” He began, smirking innocently, and the subtle quiver at one corner of his lips betrayed his struggle to maintain a ‘stern’ disposition.

She was cute, undeniably cute, and that was not an adjective that Faust generally affixed to anyone –never once actually. He had never seen her like this before, not this side of her at least, but he knew that he would like to again. Eventually he could not contain his laughter, though, and it erupted from the bowels of his gut and into the air, his snowy teeth meanwhile flashing in between. “But seeing as there is no deterring you, I must warn you that I’ve heard terrible, terrible things about the lord of this kitchen. They say that when he catches trespassers he turns them into stew, and there is no one in all the land who can defend against his might spatula.” Grinning roguishly, the dark elf reached up to tuck several strands of silver behind his elongated ear.

Faust’s smile widened as he slipped past her and through the doorway, brushing against her lightly as his booted feet fell stealthily upon the wooden floor that greeted them. Playfully crouching low and bidding her to follow ‘silently’ behind him, the dark elf paused in the main foyer and waited for her. A small desk wrought of red wood was situated to the left of the doorway, an elegantly designed oval mirror poised on the wall above it. There was a staircase leading to the upper level a short distance in front of them, and a small hallway that connected to the kitchen on its right. To the left was a closed door that would lead to an office room.

“There…” Faust whispered, pointing to the passageway that would take him and Viskyia to their destination. It did not occur to the Prince of Har’oloth that he was sneaking into his own home at the time, and he continued to participate in their role playing game, oblivious to the immaturity of it all. Serion would have laughed and Fidelis would have vomited, but the dark elf was unconcerned by what anyone thought, except Viskyia of course. Glancing behind her and winking teasingly, Faust purposely turned away to conceal that smile of his, the one that he could not seem to get rid of ever since Viskyia had come to the Academy.

Up ahead, the white marble tiles of the kitchen floor loomed into view along with the developing shape of the long island centered in the room. Immaculate pots and pans lined the side walls of the room, and there were many wooden cabinets above the counter. A cutting board rested at an odd angle on the island, and a large onion had recently been peeled and chopped into pieces; the air was redolent of its teary juices. On the far side of the kitchen were a large basin and a fire pit, a black cauldron resting atop the latter.

There didn’t seem to be anyone in the room, however.

[Viskyia Crow]

Ruby and citrine gazes made contact and held each others attention for an instant longer than was perhaps appropriate, both widening first with surprise then pleasure. Lips curved to match the widening of eyes, and the game was on. It was a true game, filled with childish intent and careless abandon. It was so incongruent to what Viskyia's normal personality was that it almost startled her. Almost. But nothing so far had gone as planned with this man. Nothing. And even his laughter had a sense of healing about it, something that pierced her guard and made her grin match his. She'd give a lot to hear laughter like that every day. The world should be filled with its like, erupting from the depths of the man's dark visage and flowing forth into the world.

Her only comment was.... "If its a truly good stew, we might just have to let him live. And for what its worth, I'd give a lot to see an enraged man wielding a mighty spatula. Thats a story worthy of repeating over and over again."

The thrill of the game, and a wholly unnatural warmth filled her as she slipped aside and followed him into the mansion on soundless feet. As he brushed past her, her hand fell to his hip, then lightly to the back of his waist. A finger slipped through his belt, and she went with him silently... allowing him to lead. Occasionally, her eyes met his, and she pointed one direction, or followed him another, through the long drawn out maze of lower rooms. Well, perhaps a long drawn out maze was an overstatement, for the floorplan was easy enough. The hallway, the stairway, the corridor leading to the kitchens... all open and very tastefully decorated. And in contrast to the Academy, it looked wholly unused. She thought for a moment that perhaps she preferred his office, with its mountain of clutter, the broken knives on the floor... it was so much more him than this place was. That fact was clear to her.

Lightly, she kept her hand on his belt, following him and only breaking contact once or twice to dive through an opening, grinning silently. The overall effect would have been better if ... she had been a bit more silent (stealth wasn't exactly Viskyia's forte) or had grinned a little less. But nevertheless, they made it into the room Faust indicated with little incident.

It just made her all the more suspicious.

She joined him again, after looking around from the doorway, crossing silently behind a shelf and kneeling with him in plain sight of the cutting board with its onion. Rising slightly, up on the tips of her toes, she laid her lips against one of his elongated ears and whispered breathlessly. "It has to be a trap. This was far too easy for my taste. Far too easy." With that, she bade him to wait, and bravely started out, making a large circuit of the room in order to make sure the prescribed fiend wasn't kneeling behind some counter retrieving something from the back of a cupboard. It was a huge sacrifice of course, scouting and leaving the Vyssie where he was, but Viskyia was willing to do so for the sake of their new friendship. She transected the room, pilfered a handfull of almonds from a nice container laying out on one counter, sniffed the contents of the cauldron and was back at his side in an instant. Viskyia opened her palm, displayed the almonds as if she had just stolen something truly wicked, and grinned at him... lifting a white eyebrow as if to say... "What now?"

Viskyia knew they were being exceedingly silly... but she was having a really really good time, so for once in her life, once meaning never before, she gave herself up to the game. Wholly. Completely. And as she watched the man, waiting for his reaction... for his suggestion as to what they do next, she knew in that instant she'd never be the same again, not really, not after knowing him. He was an enigma rolled up in lovely mirth, as deadly and intelligent as any she'd ever seen. And although it stunned her she did nothing more than close her eyes for a moment, sending off a silent thanks to whatever powers that might be for a stolen moment of pleasure in a vast sea of uncertainty that normally comprised her life.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

He felt the lump in his throat, but he felt the weight of her hand more. A dozen sirens sounded in the dark elf’s mind as he realized that she was behind him, a position that he awarded no one –not even his own mother when she’d been living. Life was too short to take unnecessary chances, especially in realms as precarious as Har’oloth. And yet, not only was Viskyia at his backside, but she was holding onto him, and all of this had transpired without him noticing it. She could have slid a dagger between his spine and he would not have realized it. But then again, there were a lot of things that he did not realize at this time. Why was his forehead suddenly so warm, for example?

Ascribing his excitement to their childish play, the dark elf grinned as he led Viskyia silently to the island. He purposely dropped to his knees then, his silver hair streaming to a sudden standstill as he hid at the base of the kitchen’s centerpiece. “If we live to retell it over and over again,” He said, winking lightheartedly as he scooted over to make room for her behind one of the cabinets. Peeking around the corner, the Prince of Har’oloth hurriedly returned beside her after the preliminary inspection, nodding to indicate that at least a portion of the coast was clear. He bit his lip then as Viskyia hypothesized a trap, one that, Faust supposed, could easily have been sprung by the wise and crafty spatula wielder.

“You’re right, much too easy. If you’re not back in three seconds…I’m coming for you…” He promised, all mirth ‘suppressed’ from his visage in an arduous demonstration of self-control. Surprisingly, he did not feel ridiculous in his role, one ordinarily cast for children under the age of five. And given the aptitude of his partner-in-crime’s theatrical skills, the Prince of Har’oloth was sincerely hoping not to disappoint.

And then she was gone.

Grinning as his gloved hand encircled the leather-bound hilt of his sword, the dark elf counted silently to himself, though as he reached the culmination of his calculation, Viskyia reappeared again, and all in one piece. “Oh good,” Faust breathed out with a smile, “I feared for the worst. I had my sword ready and everything…” He said. Blinking as Viskyia unveiled the handful of almonds to him, the dark elf smirked and alighted to his feet. “No chef in their right mind would leave such valuables laying around unprotected. He must be here…somewhere…” Faust postulated, and he pointedly glanced over his shoulder to the kitchen’s entrance. It was empty. No chef. No one.

Tapping his chin in feigned pensiveness, the Vysstichi Lord steeled his eyes (or tried to at least) as he turned helplessly to Viskyia. “We need to be very careful now. For all we know he’s watching us…waiting for the right time to strike…” The dark elf’s tone adopted an emphatic quality to it, but of a timbre befitting someone obviously unaccustomed to the performing arts. Luckily, though, the Prince of Har’oloth knew that his only critic wouldn’t condemn him for it. He knew that she never would.

“M-Master Faust, what are you doing?” came a voice down the hallway.

Startled, the dark elf’s lips curled into a dreadful frown as a large form materialized at the entranceway. His skin was painted a light brown as a result of copious exposure to the sunlight, and his round face was covered in a thick black beard. He was of average height for a human, but his stomach fell over his pants like a muffin top. There was something gentle about his hazel eyes, but his current expression was one of evident concern. “Are you okay?” He asked, pointedly looking to the pair huddled furtively against the cabinets. He held a large bowl in one hand, and the other was occupied with a wooden stirring spoon.

Averting his gaze to the floor, the dark elf slowly removed his hand from his sword and repositioned it atop his head. He laughed lightly to cushion his embarrassment. “Jeez Kamar. I didn’t know you were here…” He said, scratching through his silver tresses as he turned to Viskyia, and he imparted a humiliated grin to her. “Uh…we were just…um…” He looked to the woman for help then.

[Viskyia Crow]

She should have known at the time her position was precarious. The jeweler in fact did note Faust's muscles tightening then relaxing once, twice... more than a few times in fact as she moved behind him. It wouldn't strike her until much later, after their game, that it was perhaps because he was uncomfortable.. if even then. For all that she'd been dwelling in Nexus Prime among the guild wars and fully knee deep in them for the last year, seeing one member after another picked off by poison or assassin, she still had a sense of naivety about such things. For all that she was what she was, no one had yet tried to kill her, knife her, or slip her poison. She simply hadn't drawn the right attention or circumvented the right people yet. If she had, she would have recognized Faust's nervousness for what it was immediately instead of just noting it as an oddity to be reflected upon later.

Sadly, she completely missed the trust he showed in her, for it would have been something she'd have wanted to note. Again, there was a lack of experience there. And for all that she was just into her adulthood, she was not yet in so many ways hardened, for all that she tried to self temper. There were certain things she'd have to experience yet in order for that to fully happen... and hiding in Nexus wasn't lending itself to that sort of thing. As a child and then as young woman, the life that she lived when she was wholly ornamental with her real father was as sheltered as life could be. It was one of the reasons she'd trekked to Vortex. There was a steel in her that longed to be forged, whether or not she was consciously aware of it.

Had she known him better, she would have understood instantly that she was staring at her opposite, indeed someone who'd been the distance and back. Faust wore the wisdom, scars and caution like armor to prove it.

What she did have eyes to see intrigued her. From the darkness of his skin, to the icy waterfall of his silvery hair, she watched and tried not to laugh as she shed all the masks she wore for the brief sorte into the kitchen. They whispered like fiends and broke apart only to come back together, promises passed and assessments made.

When the target of their aspirations finally did manifest, he was the picturesque visage of a proper chief, even down to the overlapped belly. He had a smell about him too... yeast and sugar and mysterious spices. The jeweler was sensitive to such things and looked on in interest before she realized how... inappropriate their game might seem. Viskyia didn't want to discredit or embarrass Faust in front of his staff, and as those thoughts crossed her mind her features changed. The adventuresome mirth disappeared masked by concern and enough polite annoyance fit for a queen. As her dark companion struggled to find some explanation, she surreptitiously slipped a hand up to her ear outside the chefs view and freed a glittering stone from its place. She pressed it against Faust's hand where it lightly lay across the hilt of his sword... passing it into his fingers.

"My pardons for invading your kitchen, Sir. But I've seemed to have lost an earring as we passed through on a tour. It's rather one of my favorites, being from my mother, and it pains me to have lost it." She said, straight faced with just the perfect mixture of irritation and worry. Viskyia's mother was dead, long passed into the pyre, and no one had ever gifted her with jewelery save for a guild pin her adoptive father had handed her once. But she had no problem with the new role. None whatsoever. "The Lord was assisting me in finding it."

And with that she rose in one smooth gesture and assumed a stance filled with proper distance and the respect a guest should show for being in someone else's home.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

Faust did not miss the nimble fingers of his role-playing counterpart, and he accepted the beautiful token of their alibi without cracking even the faintest smile. “And find it we did, Kamar,” the Prince of Har’oloth said, nodding agreeably as he unveiled the resplendent gem in the palm of his hand. He held it out to Viskyia then, his gaze meeting her citrine eyes with evident admiration. Her previous demonstration was impressive indeed, one that the dark elf had oftentimes witnessed from pickpockets and the like on the streets of Imperia. And yet, as Viskyia was certainly no thief, her movements spoke volumes of her bodily control and grace, marvelous traits of any accomplished warrior.

“I’m glad that you found it then,” Kamar replied, the sides of his mustache curling upwards as a small smile appeared underneath. He set the bowl and stirring spoon on the island then, clapping his hands free of the powder that coated his palms. “After all, we wouldn’t want that ‘enraged spatula wielder’ and his ‘subverted minions’ getting to it first.” The chef casually continued, repeating both dark elf and half-Eshlahier’s previous words while wearing a perfectly straight face at the time. It did not last long, though, for even the obese chef could not contain his laughter within his enormous gut, and it trumpeted throughout the room like a hyena’s.

The dark elf’s frown immediately disappeared as he turned back to Viskyia, shrugging lightheartedly before he joined in Kamar’s fit of laughter. “None of this gets out, Kamar, or you’ll be wearing that same apron for the rest of your life.” Grinning innocently, Faust sighed finally and shrugged, shaking his head to himself in good-humored mortification.

“Of course of course, Master Faust. I won’t tell a soul. But I don’t think that anyone would believe me even if I did. It’s not every day that a grown man and his beautiful girlfriend play hide and seek.” Kamar naively stated, and it was not until he met the Vysstichi Lord’s peculiar stare did he realize his err. He masked the mistake, though, and set his gentle gaze upon Viskyia. “Master Faust, I absolutely implore you to introduce me to your lovely friend…”

“Certainly, Kamar. This is Miss Viskyia Crow, my guest for the evening,” the Prince of Har’oloth responded, stepping back to afford the woman a clearer view of the obese chef –though of course the gesture was entirely unnecessary as the Arakmatian human was nearly twice the size of the slender dark elf. Kamar bowed slightly, bending at the waist but unable to lower further as his round stomach wedged against his legs. He smiled embarrassedly.

“It is a pleasure to have you here, milady. We don’t see visitors very often here at the manor. I hope that your stay here is memorable. Shall I be setting the dinner table for two then?” Kamar asked, looking away from Viskyia to the Vysstichi Lord who nodded in confirmation. “Very well then. I will whip up something special for the both of you.” the cook promised.

As Kamar rummaged about the kitchen for supplies, the Prince of Har’oloth bade for Viskyia to follow him back into the hallway. His hands remained locked behind his back as he trailed towards the main foyer, and when he turned, his face was conquered by a tranquil smile. “Thank you for being a good sport,” He said, chuckling as he batted some silver hair from his eyes. “The people are good here. Some of them have been through a lot, but luckily they managed to find their home here at the estate. Kamar was actually a slave in Imperia some time ago. He’s a great man, always putting others before himself. And he’s possessed of wonderful humor as you’ve no doubt noticed already.” Glancing back to the kitchen, Faust’s smile widened as the large figure of the Arakmatian moved about, fumbling through pots and pans and whistling a tune commonly heard in Arakmat.

“We’ve some time before dinner…” the dark elf said, leaning against the wall and allowing the back of his head to rest lightly against it. “Shall we continue our little adventure together?” He asked, grinning again.

[Viskyia Crow]

It didn't feel real to her somehow, standing in the kitchen of a nobleman of Vortex, surrounded by fine things and in the presence of two men she realized she liked enormously. As Faust made his attempted explanation, playing off her farce, she took the earring and rehung it in her earlobe... even as her face colored red at the chef's words. A blush burned her features a bright red and she looked trapped for an instant before she realized both Faust and Kamar were laughing... together. Bewildered, she glanced between them, a smile forming on her own lips as she realized suddenly these men shared a deep and profound affection for each other. There wasn't just an employee and employer relationships, but they were something akin to friends.

"It was all my idea. He was luring me in with stories of your astonishing cooking, and I wanted to see the kitchen myself... though we both seemed to have gotten carried away... I've never seen an Arakmat dish before, let alone a chef hailing from there. It's a real pleasure to meet you." She said, stepping forward and offering him a handshake as Faust stepped sideways to reveal her. She was still slightly pink with embarrassment, both at the discovery of their game and at Kamar's words, but it was fading fast as she gave into the men's good humor and stopped dwelling on how silly they both seemed to have looked. Kamar smelled wonderfully... it was something the half-esh was very sensitive too. He smelled like spices and wine and all the good things that filled a kitchen and because of it she softened to him immediately. Her citrine eyes brightened and she nodded in response to his statements on her stay being memorable. Indeed, she knew it already would be... had been.

Her eyes glanced at the dark elf beside her and something warmed immediately deep within her... something she didn't know was even there. Being the person that she was, normally she would have frozen in place and taken time to examine what it was that suddenly struck her, but it was obvious here wasn't the time nor the place. So when Faust beckoned her to follow, she did so meekly throwing one last uncertain smile at the chef before slipping out of the kitchen. His words didn't register at first, as he spoke about the staff and the people in the manor. It made so much sense now; so much more than before. Faust was helping her because thats who he was, just as these people around him were who they were. She was no different, no less trapped now than they'd been somewhere in the past.

When they reached the main foyer and he stopped, ranging his muscled length beside a wall and leaning his head back, a tendril of light from the windows fell across his waterfall of silver and caught her eye. It caused his silver locks to gleam as the sun hit them. Viskyia couldn't help herself. She faced him and lifted her hand to his hair, staring at it as she picked up a strand of it and let it slide between her fingers. Her eyes widened and her mind traveled back to her workshop and a piece of almost perfect black tourmaline that was waiting there for something to call her to it. This was it. "Your hair is so unusual. It reminds me of liquid flowing silver cascading down over black tourmaline." She said, her thoughts all thumbling over one another now as she superimposed stone and man. Glancing up, she meet his crimson gaze. Her hands twitched even as she stroked the silky length of mane, thoughts far away for a moment. She'd had the spire of rare black gemstone for a while now, and she'd loved it the moment she saw it. She'd been holding onto it for something special, having not yet been called to it. That changed now though, looking at him she saw silver wrapped around shaped black stone and it made her shiver with the pull to start on it. This would be it. Viskyia would retreat to the workshop at the first chance she got and work on wrapping tourmaline with silver when she got home. If she got home.. finally free... she thought, as her reason for being there sharply almost painfully returning to the forefront of her mind. Her citrine gaze widened as she realized how inappropriate her touch and her comments both were. "I'm sorry." She said softly as she reddened a bit more, released the strands of silver, and stepped back.

When his question came, she nodded slowly while turning and taking a deep breath as she faced away from him. "I'd like that. We still have the towers and dungeons to explore..." Viskyia answered, head turning to peer over her shoulder at him. Her face was more serene, composed now that she had a moment to regroup. She turned back to face him and reached out, leaving her hand extended in front of her, giving him the choice to take it or not. <