RP:A Better Reunion, Probably
Part of the Weave Your Own Fate Arc
Summary: Iintahquohae meets with Kasyr before and after his duel with Gorehilt to discuss Sacred's awakening. During the duel itself, she is surprised to receive two apologies from Mage's Guild members after their meeting in Satoshi's Library.
Larket Arena
Before the duel
With the evening's fight not under way yet, Iintahquohae doesn't see an issue with moving to the very front row seats, then hopping down into the sandy arena floor. Catching herself when she lands on the floor below by her hands, she stands upright, clapping her palms together to bat sand away. Her appearance has changed just a bit. The choker she once wore gone, in its place a black tattoo of a serpent, coiled around her throat. Veins beneath her skin are darkened to the point that they're visible, a strange web of dark lines in varying thickness, and oddly with her choice of clothes, she seems to be showing them off. She's jacketless, pale grey button-up has the sleeves rolled to just above the elbow, top two buttons of the shirt opened. Keeping to the perimeter in in her search, she is on the hunt for a door that presumably leads to where combatants are held before their match begins. Perhaps Kasyr, likely in the company of a guard or two, is around.
Kasyr let's out a long sigh as he's introduced to the arena- though it's not because he's finally free of armed shadow his escort provided. Rather, his relief is from his brief emancipation from the sickly scent of fever that still clings to the room that's served as his cell, and the terrible tedium of those 4 walls. One that was only further compounded courtesy of his awareness of Lionel's dissapearance, and worse things still. His release into the Arena meant that freedom was a few breaths away if he so chose- a realization that was comforting in it's own right, but made bittersweet by his awareness of what would occur if he acted upon it. "Merde." His eyes shut for a moment, in an effort to push aside those invasive thought. It's a slow process, but one of the few times he finds himself grateful for the dull throbbing within his right arm, and the sensation of the sling about that limb. It grounds him in that moment, and even serves to stoke an ire within him- as the flesh refuses to heed even the slightest call to movement. "Merde." For a brief moment, there's a flicker of something silvery within his minds eye- some half-remembered figment of some recent nightmare, and yet it slides away, replaced instead by a simple sort of serenity. Because, however bleak things were- one thing was clear. Ever since he'd awoken, the sickness that had sunk deep into him had broken- and though fatigue still resided within his flesh, it had failed to conquer him.
Iintahquohae's head turns when she hears her sire's voice. Being the only other figure on the arena floor made it easy to spot him, so she approaches.“Kas,” she calls. Hand lifts to wave. He looked...better? It was peculiar seeing him now, after a previous evening's events. She's silent for an unnecessary amount of time, uncertain of what to say or whether she had enough time to have a real conversation with the Kensai. Best to wait until after the match sometime, she supposed. Regarding him, she produces a wry smile. “You look better, I think.” Going in for a hug is considered, but she refrains from doing so. They're like family, but...too soon after the dream incident. Another time.
Kasyr isn't quite sure why, but there's something about the seamstress that makes him uneasy. It's not a sense of malignance, or hostility that might crop up to his empathy- but rather, something more primal. Something about her vicinity cues up the afterimage of a freshly moth-eaten memory, reduced to the broadest of strokes, and tainted with a hungry sort of violence that seems to ooze out from the seams. It takes conscious will to start breathing again, and he can't help but internally chide himself for it. "Inks. You're . . ." Her appearance is off- not unrecognizably so, and not in the distorted sense of dreams. But she is not how he remembered her. And her presence, likewise, feels askew. " Are you alright?" There's more he wants to ask, but he resists pressing the point, instead offering a more hesitant, "I think you're right. Juste un peut." A careful glance is given towards the arena walls, and the guards that likely overlook the area, "I wouldn't venture too closely, enfin. They might worry you're conspiring."
Iintahquohae blinks at the Kensai's reaction to her appearance and the question he poses. Maybe he didn't remember? “I'm great, actually. Better than I've felt in quite some time.” A pause follows in which she glances to the nearby guards, though not as carefully as Kasyr did. Surely they won't mind one quick hug before her sire's big match, right? Besides, they're surrounded. They'd see if she slipped something into his pocket or tried to scoop him up and carry him out. “I'm going to hug him,” she shouts, just so they're aware as she goes in, one armed embrace so it's less suspicious, head lowered to his ear. “We need to talk. Later.” she whispers. Pulling away with a smile, she takes a few steps back. While fiddling with one of her sleeves in effort to distract from the general awkwardness of hugging someone, she adds. “Go easy on Gorehilt tonight, yeah? He's on my payroll.”
Kasyr draws his left hand up through his hair, before shaking off bits of sweat off to the side, "Well. That's a small blessing, au moin." He can't help but smirk, however, when she offers up her statement to the guards- the singular confidence in her voice and posture making it ever so hard to keep a straight face. At least, until she draws in close and wraps her arms around him. It's not long, but a sharp chill ripples through him as she draws in close to whisper- a prickling sensation of teeth playing through his mind as her words reach his ears. He can feel his left arm briefly struggling to return the motion, replaced instead by the fervent desire to push away- but he resists the awkward impulse. And then it's gone, replaced instead by an innocuous smile as Iintahquohae draws back. The mention of his opponent is what ultimately helps to drive away the emotions clouding his expression, a genuine sense of curiosity creeping up to the surface, "Oh? Define go easy? Es he that easy to break, ou es there something else concerning tu?"
Iintahquohae's eyes scan the seats to pinpoint Larket's guards and is happy to see they allowed her quick hug without much issue. A couple probably shouted back to make it quick, and quick it was. His question regarding the half-orc is met with a wry smirk. “No, not easy to break I'd say. Just...I've seen what you can do.” Awkwardness out of the way, she decides it's probably time to clear out of the arena floor. “I'll be rooting for both of you. See you soon.” She turns to leave, realizing that there isn't really an easy way to get back -up- into the stands, but there were uneven bits of the wall she could use as footholds to climb back up, and find a vacant seat in the front row.
During the Duel
Iintahquohae makes herself comfortable in a seat, then realizes she forgot to bring her knitting basket. So much for multitasking. Probably for the best, though. She always seemed to forget she had brought it along due to focusing on whatever match was occurring.
Valrae arrives late, as usual, and can hear the commotion of the crowd and ongoing battle in the arena. Illusioned as Grace but momentarily free of her duties to Queen Josleen, she arrives as a mousy brunette in large, round wire framed glasses. She’s gone casual, wearing a simple powder blue sundress with little white daisies dotting the skirt. The disguised witch stops to spend coin on snacks, grabbing popcorn and the first bit of chocolate her eyes landed on. The tea she’d ordered came with a Larketian collectable cup with Captain Greg’s likeness painted upon it. When she finally makes it to the stands, she spends a second scanning the crowd. Her eyes find Iintahquohae first and so she makes her way toward her fellow guild member and welcomes herself to the seat near her. “How is our boy doing?” She whispers, trying to follow Kasyr as the battle played out.
Iintahquohae surprised that someone from the guild would choose to sit next to, let alone acknowledge her after recent events, is slow to reply. Partially because she's fixated on GOREHILT's next move. Not bad. Grace is given a sidelong glance while she considers the question. Our boy? They were both..hers, she supposed. One's on her payroll and the other's her sire- Right! Guild. Gotcha. The seamstress leans toward Grace, whispering back a reply. “Pretty good so far. GOREHILT's doing great as well. It'll be close,” she guesses.
Valrae unceremoniously shovels a handful of salty popcorn into her mouth, eyes sliding discreetly back toward Inks and her slightly altered appearance. She doesn’t comment though, they weren’t close enough for that yet.. And it could be a medical condition. The witch was raised better. “Oh nice. Who are you betting on though?” After a moment's hesitation, Grace shakes the popcorn her way. “Want some?” She asks around a mouthful. Her eyes return to the fight for a moment. She grimaces and looks away, looking instead back into the crowd. Her eyes pass over Irenic once and when her mind catches up with what she’s seen she looks back again. Because she’d always had very little self control, her eyes zero in on Emilia and her noticeable bump. ‘Grace’ groans loudly and shovels more popcorn in her mouth. “I’m glad I got the chocolate.” She says to herself out loud. The baby weight that still hung around wouldn’t be though.
Quintessa has been watching the match incognito, but the performance of her teacher was frustrating enough to the changeling that she stands from her spot in the front row and lowers her hood to scream out at him. “Kasyr! Stop playing around with him and end this! Turn this upstart orc into a pincushion!”
Iintahquohae's response to Grace is delayed again due to the fight, but she looks away to respond. Her offer is appreciated, and she takes a handful. “Thanks,” she says, between a few bites. “No betting for me tonight. Conflict of interest on this one.” It's a strange thought for her to have when she extends it a bit further. Which one of them did she think she could take if she made it through to the second round of matches? Her shoulders rise and fall with a shrug at the thought, brow lofting a bit when Grace groans. “Mother makes some really good chocolate cookies,” she says. “Triple chocolate. I could bring some to the Mage's Tower sometime.”
Valrae is graciously distracted from her bitterness by Quintessa’s shouting and snorts a laugh. She turns her attention back to the fight and perks up further with Iintahquohae's offer. “If the guild makes it long enough, I’d like that.” There is a comfortable pause in the conversation. “It’s nice to talk outside of… Well, you know,” She waves the popcorn dismissively. “Sorry about that, by the way.” Her voice drops down to a whisper. “Larket isn’t popular in all crowds, I should have warned you.”
Iintahquohae grins at the sound of Quintessa's shouts. Kasyr always had something up his sleeve it seemed. The grin fades a bit at Grace's reply, but she lifts a shoulder to shrug again. “Yeah...If not, I can always snag some from home and bring them to wherever you're at. Where you from?” Jabbing a thumb at her chest, she says,“Cenril local here.” The apology comes as a surprise, but it's appreciated. Iintahquohae tries to mask the gratitude she has by stuffing the remainder of the popcorn in her hand into her mouth, chewing and swallowing. “You...what? There's no need to apologize. -...I get it.” The seamstress finds herself smiling for real this time- less forced and more genuine. “Thanks.”
Valrae finds her attention pulled away from the fight again. “Cenril?!” Her excitement is nearly palpable. “Me too! Born and raised I-” The witch stumbles, remembering her alias as Grace claims she was Larket born. “I mean, actually I was born in Larket but ah, my family has a home there and we spent most of our.. Ah time there.” She stumbles over her cover lamely. Blessedly, a commotion erupts in the crowd. Was that… Khitti? Who was that man fighting her? Should Valrae do something? Before she can really make a decision others around the pair seem suddenly drawn into the impromptu bonus action. Another brawl breaks out a row behind them. The witch places the empty popcorn bucket between herself and Iintahquohae and pops some chocolate candy in her mouth before offering to share that as well. “I should come to these things more often,”
Quintessa is much too busy shouting obscenities at the duelists to notice much else.
“Really?” They looked to be about the same age. Maybe Iintahquohae and Grace crossed paths as kids. Went to school together or something. However, given her somewhat sheltered childhood with the orphanage and living underground with her folks, maybe not. Friends weren't a luxury she had ever really had. The thoughts evaporate when Grace stumbles, and she nods. “Ah,” the seamstress replies, “It's nice there. You should stop by more often when you're free. The beach is great.” The eruption of a brawl behind them causes her head to turn. “They are pretty fun to watch,” she muses, turning to the fight below. “I'm eager to see how I do when it's my turn in this pit.”
Valrae , who was obviously watching the happy couple from the corner of her eye despite the other action happening around her, momentarily panics as it appears Emilia is waving toward her. What should she do? If she didn’t wave back, that would be rude and make it obvious she was still holding onto feelings she had for her ex husband. Then again, if she was too enthusiastic it could come across as creepy or fake. Suddenly, she feels a little sick. The result of this is ‘Grace’ waving back too enthusiastically with chocolate on her face. It wasn’t a good look. “I love the beach,” She says, bringing herself back to the conversation with Iintahquohae while firmly stamping down her embarrassment and dealing with it like she did everything else(Meaning, denila). Valrae looks toward her again, similar thoughts crossing her mind. She’d been an orphan as well, the likelihood of them having met before would be higher if she’d actually stayed in the orphanage though. The conversation moves on though, “Oh, you’re fighting?” She smiles. “I’m betting on you… Who are you up against?”
Emilia | Liam, one of the identical dark haired teens, was scanning the crowd for a pretty lady when his icy-blue gaze landed on none other than the woman waving his direction. With a charming grin the teen returned the wave just as enthusiastically thinking Grace was waving at him, not his mother. With permission from Emilia he left the group to get his own snack, except it was not for him. He bought a small box of chocolates and found his way to Grace. With a gentle touch he tapped her shoulder and offered the small box of chocolates, along with a napkin to Grace, "For the beautiful lady."
Iintahquohae is terrible at paying attention to multiple people amid the shouting and cheering in the crowd, so she keeps herself split between the fight and Grace. “I do too. The water is wonderful. Father takes me sailing on our ships when I'm not taking care of the shop. It's been a while, though. And yes, I am fighting! A couple days from now,” she adds. “I don't think I'll win, but it'll be fun to practice. Play around a bit. Mathollak is my opponent.” She searches the crowd for the Axe of Love to point him out for Grace, but isn't sure where to begin looking with so many folk around. “I danced with him at the ceremony. He's fun.”
Irenic opens his mouth with a soft nudge to Emilia for her to raise up some popcorn enough for him to enjoy as well and once she finally shares, he playfully nips at one of her fingers. It was when she waved at a couple of women that threw him off because one of them sort of looks familiar, “who ya waving at?” Then it hits him and he’s unsure if he should say anything, well, especially not here, but he wonders if Emilia knows exactly who -that- is??? Awkward. Regardless, he also waves with a friendly grins simple and short without complication. “Do we need to pick up more chocolate pickle chips on the way home, or is a different craving striking you?” Leo grimaces back at them, “you two are distracting me from the fight with all the sickening canoodling and carrying on about chocolate covered pickles!” The boy is joking of course and his mischievous smirk proves it as he waits for a playful swat on his arm from his mother. He spots Liam with Grace and rolls his eyes embarrassingly at his brother.
Valrae nearly chokes on her tea. “Mathollak? I know him! He is fun,” Grace nods approvingly. “I’ll still bet on you, guild solidarity and all. He’s a nice guy though,” And then Liam is tapping on her shoulder. She turns and upon seeing the young boy feels as if she might actually wither away and die from embarrassment. Flushing, she accepts the box of chocolates and the napkin with a smile. “Oh!” She swipes quickly at her face. “Thank you so much. It’s good to see you again. How is your mother?” Was that the right thing to say? She didn’t know anymore. The fight was now all but forgotten. Maybe a stray lightning bolt could just take her out. A girl can dream.
Iintahquohae nods. “Yeah, he'll be fun.” At the arrival of Liam, she turns to observe him and Grace's interaction, then looks away. Thinking the child must be Grace's nephew or something, she thinks it's appropriate not to interrupt. Leaning back in her seat a bit, she continues watching the match.
Emilia laughs softly as she stuffs another small handful of popcorn into Irenic's mouth, "Oddly, this popcorn is amazing. Can we simply buy them out and bring it all back with us?" It was a serious question. Leo let out a groan, "At least the popcorn is more normal than the chocolate pickles." Liam on the other hand is simply amazed that Grace is talking to him and took the chocolates from him. The lad is ear to ear grinning now that is until she brought up his mother. His smile fell, but he replied with a smirk on those lips, "Mother? Oh, she is turning more and more into a beached whale. Not sure if it is the babies or all the food she manages to eat all day. She is over there with Leo and half-siblings in the making Dad. I can go get her, if you like?" Then he turned to Iintahquohae and flahsed a charming smile, "Would the lovely lady like a snack?"
Irenic eagerly takes the popcorn and mumbles through a mouth full of it, “wha’evr oo wan’ rove.” Just then, he glances around confusingly for Liam and finally spots him way over there with Grace. Eyes wide, he goes to say something or shout, but ends up sucking a popcorn kernel down his throat and quickly steps back from Emilia to fall victim to a coughing fit. The avian desperately reaches for Liam’s abandoned drink and after gulping half of it down, he clears his throat. Liam is also really really lucky that Irenic is nowhere in earshot of how he just referred to his mother.
Valrae would be, if she could manage to get over the crushing embarrassment, endeared by the young boy and his arrival of chocolates and complements. “Oh, you should have seen me.” She comments cleverly, hopefully reminding the boy of her age. “I was as wide as a house when I was pregnant and eating everything in sight.”
Iintahquohae, never one to turn down snacks and having a soft spot for kids, nods at Liam. “Whatcha got?”
Emilia | Liam looks back to Grace with that grin still plastered on that teen face, "Well, then you must be part goddess as you look like you came down from the heavens."
Iintahquohae said to Valrae, "This kid's gonna break some hearts one day."
Emilia | Liam finishes his flirt with Grace to catch Iintahquohae response about snacks. A women who also loves food? He was having the best day of his teen life. "I got all these! Take your pick, Pretty Lady," A snack box was offered to Iintahquohae that sported an assortment of popcorn, chocolate candies, fruit cookies, peppermint sticks, and fudge.
Valrae said to you, "I think you're right! just a few more years and there will be a trail of sad girls in his wake."
Quintessa returns to a seat with a huff, just not the one she was seated in before. Spotting a couple of fellow guild members, she seats herself next to Inks and Grace, on Inks’ side, and nudges the seamstress with her elbow. “Hey you, got a second to talk?”
Iintahquohae's eyes widen at the sheer amount Liam has offered. Cookies were her favorite, but peppermint sounded good. Mother gave her enough cookies back home anyway. Taking a few peppermint sticks, she lookes to Liam. “Thanks, kid,” turning to Valrae, she nods. “Hopefully he lets 'em down easy.” Popping the end of a peppermint stick in her mouth, she jumps a bit at the nudge to her side. Turning to see Quintessa, the seamstress blinks. Is everybody from the guild just...talking to her now? Was the library meeting some sort of test she passed? “Sure,” she replies, offering a peppermint stick. “Want a few?”
Quintessa reaches down to take a peppermint stick and smiles at the vampire. “Thanks,” The girl’s smile fades as she brings it near her mouth, but she doesn’t taste it just yet. “I feel bad for how harshly I spoke to you the other day, so I want to offer you some advice. I fought and defeated Mathollak during the Titans of Winter tournament in Frostmaw, so if you want some tips on how to fight him I’ll be willing to share them with you.” The changeling smirks. “Call this a peace offering.”
Valrae nods. “I think he’ll be a gentleman about it.” With that she winks. Giving Quintessa, who was offering a nice olive branch to Inks, a passing smile and small wave as she stands. The disguised witch excuses herself before the fights end. “Research to do,” She offers lamely with a, “See you around, handsome.” to Liam.
Iintahquohae isn't used to apologies or peace offerings it seems, judging by her earlier reaction to Grace's and her reaction to the changeling's. Her gaze jumps from Quintessa to the arena floor again, one hand absently rubbing at the darkened veins on her arm while she collects herself. Looking back, she takes the takes the peppermint stick from her mouth and offers a wry smile. “Sure. Whatever you've got, I'd love to hear.” A pause follows in which she looks down to where Kasyr was, wondering the likelihood she could persuade a guard to let her talk to him after the match. “Thank you,” she adds to Quintessa, turning back to look at the girl. “I appreciate it.”
Irenic gives Emilia a quick smooch, “I’m going to go grab Liam and ya boys will be out of your hair so you can get to work. I’ll see you at home.” After stealing another kiss, he motions for Leo to tag along and they wade through the crowd to get to the other side of the Arena where Liam is. “Hey, killer,” Liam perks up, he always feels so cool whenever Irenic calls him that in front of the ladies, “c’mon. Fight is over and your mom’s got work to do, say goodbye to your girlfriends and let’s hit the skies.” Irenic grins politely to Iintahquohae, “hello,” then turns his attention to Grace, “nice to see you again.” Though he didn’t expect to be seeing her so soon, in Larket, with the queen.right.there. “Hope he was a perfect gentleman,” he drapes his arm over Liam’s shoulders before gently guiding him away. “Have a wonderful night,” he calls to the small group that had gathered around his ex-wife as Leo teases Liam that the opponent he was rooting for won, but Liam confidently replies, “so what!? I talked to hot chicks all night.” Irenic chuckles and shakes his head which causes Liam to change course, “I mean, I courted some beautiful dames.”
Emilia gets her smooches in with Irenic before watching him leaving with Leo to fetch Liam. "See you at Ara," she said actually waving this time before making her way down to rejoin the healers from the guild that had been watching as a group. With the rounded bump of a stomach the leader was put to giving instructions with minor contact allowed to the injured fighters.
Quintessa gives a wave to Valrae as she bites into the hard candy, her sharp teeth crunching the peppermint with ease. Her mismatched eyes return to Iintahquohae and she nods her head at the woman’s appreciation. “You didn’t deserve that, so this is really the least I can do. Anyway, Mathollak…” Quintessa’s gaze drifts back to the arena before them. “He uses Delishian magic, potions mostly, and can change the shape of his body by using a form of transmutation or polymorph. Be ready for anything, especially his devotion to the fight. He wants more than anything to impress his Goddess. Also,” The hex blade shifts to pull down the neck of her catsuit, just enough to show Inks a scar on her left shoulder. “He can manifest spikes. He left this little wound on me during our bout when he attacked me from behind. He’s tricksy.”
Iintahquohae watches Kasyr's finishing blow with a conflicted expression. Great! He won, but Gorehilt! Is he okay? That's her employee. “I said -not- to go too hard on him, Kas,” she murmurs. Oh well. Making a mental note to send the half orc some cash to pay for some decent healers, her attention returns back to Quintessa, appreciative for the advice. Eyeing the scar she reveals, she nods. “Good to know...Spikes, potions, and he's tricksy.” The plan she had for the fight still seems doable, but the only way she'd know for sure is to try. She had never experienced spikes before, but when she was human, she received jagged scars up and down her back from pair of wolves. Perhaps it isn't too different. “Thank you, Quintessa. I'll keep this in mind for when it's my turn down there.”
Kasyr 's left arm pumps into the arm with such vigour and poise, that for a brief moment, he's channeling the same sort of energy as Freddie Mercury. Unfortunately, the reality of the situation sinks right back in, and he can feel that exhaustion from before creeping in, "..Wait, Merde. Do I get at least a bit of a snack break before you stuff moi back there?" Man, this is awkward. Especially given the vibe of malcontent that just slipped through the crowd.
Post Duel
Quintessa fixes her clothes before she stands up, giving a casual wink to the seamstress. “I’m rooting for you, Guildie.” The changeling leans on the edge of the stands, hanging over the arena floor before she calls her masters name. “Yo, Kas!” With a deft throw, Quintessa aims a small earring for the man, the silvery glint only barely visible as it lands near his feet. Making eye contact with him, she taps her ear and sticks the peppermint into her mouth before the hex blade heads for the exit. “I’ll be seeing you,” she calls back to Inks.
Kasyr , despite the existantial dread creeping up on him courtesy of reality and his current quarters, maintains his victorious pose for a few more moments, before finally allowing his arm to flag. Straightening himself up, he turns to glance towards Tessa when she greets him, only to stare quizzically a she pantomimes at him. Something that clicks home when he feels something that feels a bit like her dropping to the ground near his feet. endeavouring to remain discreet, he steps over the small object, before turning to face Macon and the young prince. As though remembering his manners, he makes a courteous bow to the pair. Really, it's the sort of deep bows that one normally reserves for royalty- which also helps to cover the way his left hand sparks, as he discreetly tugs the earring up into his grasp. "To the next rounds, then. On y Va."
“Thanks, Quintessa. See you.” Iintahquohae considers hopping the barrier between the audience and the fighting area to talk to Kasyr again, but thinks that may have just been a one time deal with the guards. Instead she stands to leave, offering a two fingered salute to her sire before departing. “Talk soon, Kas,” she calls over her shoulder. “Congrats!”
Kasyr finds himself cupping his hands to call after the seamstress, his brain flicking through a set of haphazard excuses, until he finally settles on the most likely. "WAIT! We need to talk." He realizes he's panting a little, and fore all purposes, that's fine. "The doctor, et tout." I mean, true. And honestly, he's soaked that sling through pretty nicely. it's gonna get crusty in the worst of ways. And carrying around Gorehilt and his armour was definitely not a peachy job. Pausing to catch his breath, he moves to jog his way to the edge of the arena, though he's careful not to leave it's bounds.
Iintahquohae stops in her tracks, then turns. “Now?” she asks, maybe not loud enough to her. She could do now. Walking back to the ledge again, she hops over, losing the majority of the peppermint sticks she swiped in the process. No time for sweets. The scent of blood is just a bit of a problem she realizes as she approaches, and her eyes hover over the sling his arm sits in. Clearing her throat, she makes a gesture at his arm, then tucks a stray curl behind her ear. “...Might want to keep your sword out, just in case.” Having only recently consumed human blood, she worries her self-control around bleeding folk is considerably weaker. Fingertips drum against the serpentine tattoo constricting her throat. She closes the gap just a bit more, giving them about...six-ish feet of empty space just to be safe. Social distancing and all that, then sits on the floor, crosslegged. She'll be slower to move from there. Hopefully. “We do need to talk.”
Kasyr s sense of relief that had started to form when she'd hopped into the around begins to unspool alongside the look she gives him, and the sense of something other than pure concern that settles in her when she looks at his blood soaked sling. Her warning is noted with a slow nod on his part, and the faint hint of something silvery beginning to fracture the air between them- but nothing else comes of it. Yet. "I could give you an order, peut-etre. But I'd rather try to avoid burdening you with more than the ones I'd granted when I'd sired tu." There's a weirdly lopsided grin along that statement, as he leans back against the arena wall. "What about?"
Iintahquohae opts for a bit of slightly vague word salad to kick the conversation off. Partly because she doesn't know where to begin and partly because maybe stream of conscious rambling will distract her from lunging at Kasyr's arm. That being said, she does sit on one of her hands. The other points at her neck, the tattoo there, along with the visible portion of her chest with its considerably darkened veins. “Tattoo moved. It has a name. I met it in your...our dreams? I met yours too. I visited the other night. They're a mess, Kas. The dreams were, I mean. We're a tangled mess,” she cuts herself off to shove the other hand beneath her thigh. Was all of the Coterie like this? Just a web of misadventures and serpents? “But I remember things now – there were holes, frayed threads...I thought I was losing my memory after all of these years but I brought them back with me. The threads and the memories. The fragment you gave me years ago – Everything makes sense now. -I- make sense now. I...” she trails off, peering at the Kensai with a somewhat softened gaze. “You do too, I think. I...I saw. I saw her. I understand why you did it. I'm so sorry.”
Kasyr feels the breath in his lungs freeze in place, heavy and oppressive, as she begins to spill out everything on her mind. What had been a cursory glance now becomes intense scrutiny, starting with the macabre shift her veins had taken, and trailing back to the tattoo at her neck, which didn't quite seem as static as before. It carried a realness, now- and the very thought of drawing his fingers along it, brought the sensation of scales to the forefront of his thoughts. And the dreams. Why did she have to keep bringing them up. He'd gone to so many lengths to bury them. So many drinks, night after night. "Coterie has been a tangled mess from the start. Perhaps some of us more than others, peut-etre." He doesn't want to think about it, and his hand instinctively reaches for a spot where a whiskey flask once occupied. Set aside, for the sake of his wellness. "You saw Estbel, then." There's a pause, and he finds the next words an unavoidable bitterness that he can't contain, " It's a poor consolation for everything I did." It's so hard to look her in the eyes right now, especially with the sympathetic sincerity held within her gaze.
Iintahquohae frowned and nodded. “I did. She was...” The polite thing to say here, if this were a casual conversation, would be some kind of compliment about the woman, but considering the circumstances, she doesn't finish the thought. Instead she is silent for a time, uncertain of what else to say. The threads come to mind, and what she could potentially do with them, but such a suggestion and potentially false hope felt wrong now. She shifts in her seat in effort to keep her hands down and away, pointedly looking at Kasyr's face and not his arm. There had to be a healer or two that'd come down here to fix it up for him. “...I'm sorry,” is all the seamstress can think of saying. Perhaps dragging up his past wasn't a good idea. “I just,” her voice falters. This isn't like her. The hug wasn't like her either, so she may as well blow all caution to the wind. “- I want you to know that I'm here for you, Kas. We're family. I mean you're technically, I guess, father number three for me in a way. I can't do much now, but whenever I get a handle on this,” she dips her chin down, indicating the tattoo, “Perhaps I'll be a little bit less of a bumbling idiot and more useful. You can't have a useless vassal running around, right?” Was she still his vassal? Did that change when he abdicated? The thought lingers, but she shrugs to herself. He'd correct her if she's wrong.
Kasyr s' focus is in a million places- something which reduces the silvery fragment that hung in the air between them a kaleidoscopic chaos of glimmering shards- before they begin winking out of existence. It's so much easier to simply lean against the wall and begin sliding down- and he doesn't even pay much heed to the streak of red that smears behind himself. He'd live through worse. It was almost a point of fact that he'd continue to do so, regardless of how much it hurt. Still, it's enough of a display to warrant the attention of the guards, who do begin to make calls for at least some rudimentary form of care to be directed there, and away from the sausage scented orc. "You don't have anything to be sorry for." The sound of his own voice snaps him back to the moment, the sound of certainty that sounded so alien, "It was my choice, alone." And in that darkest part of his heart of hearts, he felt almost certain that were the clock to wind back, he'd make it again. A poison he'd grown drunk on, in order to fill up that hollowness she'd left behind. He can't suppress the guffaw that escapes at the thought, though it's thankfully short lived. Her offer, however, earns a long glance from him, before he starts up at the sky, "Coterie was always family to me, of a sorts. Some closer to others. It's why I dreaded becoming the last. Part of why I felt compelled to keep going." There's a pause there, before he finds himself wrinking his nose at her, "Father le Troisieme, es a bit weird, however. I think we're close to the same age." Was she older, or was he? They seemed similar. "God." The ridiculousness of the thought forces up another guffaw, but he let's this one run it's course, "Every one of them, et the goddesses too." His attention slips back towards the seamstress, something approximating a smile touching on his lips, "Mm. I suppose I'll have to give tu more pointers, then. Wouldn't do for a once, et hopefully future vampire lord to fail in his duties to his vassals. There's a house to run, after all." Politics to dive into, and all the delightful dilemma's it'd bring about. Did Tessa's current situation, and his own failure change the state of things between her house and that of Azakhaer? And what of the Maharan? "Tabernac. Why'd I quit drinking now." Mostly the threat of dying, really.
As Kasyr sinks against the wall she begins to stand up, but notices the blood and forces herself back down. Looking to the guards, she shouts, “Move it! He's more useful to you alive than dead,” the notion elicits a wry smile but it fades a bit while she observes him. “Well, you aren't the last. I'm here.” She wanted to offer some reassurance about the others, but couldn't bear to give him an empty promise. ...Weren't they the same age? “You sired me when I was twenty-two, I think. I'm pushing thirty now. Still, you're like a father figure, I suppose. Father- the one that adopted me and made you jackets before I did, and I refer to you as Vampire Dad at home. Original dad is out of the picture. Never met him.” Hopefully this makes him smile at the very least. They've never really talked about The Past™️ before. Noticing that a pair of healers accompanied by guards were filing out to take care of Kasyr's arm, she thinks it's okay for her to slowly stand up. More people with weapons meant the likelihood of actually going for his bleeding arm gradually decreased, though the scent lingered. Her tongue runs across her fangs but she keeps her mouth shut. It's gross, she thinks with a grimace. Incredibly gross. Shen ruined her desire for taking a bite out of humans but Sacred apparently had other plans. Taking a few steps back ward to create more space, she looks to Kasyr once more. “I'll take all the pointers you have. Get your arm fixed up first.” And get out of here alive, she thinks, wary of saying such out loud around Larketian guards. “I'm going to go,” she jabs a thumb at his bloody arm. “No offense. It smells good but I don't ever want to take a bite out of you. See you soon.” She turns to depart again. For real this time. Might take a bite out of a few townsfolk before leaving the city.
Kasyr is trying to work out the math for this mess, given the process of being a vampire, and then ceasing to be one has made a mess of the general timeline- especially when put in tandem with his general haziness about his own age. "...A hell of a father figure. Surprised your old man es that fond of me, too." And here, the Kensai thought the warm feelings would have extended up to the sheer amount of business he brought, and his relative cordiality as a customer. That said, any self deprecating snark he had prepared is derailed by the less than tender ministrations of the medics, who are wondering -why- the Kensai's sling is looking like it could double as a blood bag. "Fine. My one pointer before you go, Cherie? Pick a fight. Possibly with one of the mage guild students. Like the spell blades. Even a spar might let you get back into the swing of things, like honing up evasive instincts- ou troubleshooting ideas -before- you end up in the ring." That bit of advice given, he offers up a small wriggle of fingers, "A bien tot. Hopefully in better climes."