RP:A Dance with the Devil

From HollowWiki




"Sabrina attempts socialization with the help of the ever beautiful and friendly Raphaline. The would-be friend shares a dance with Deaglan"

Dragon Head Inn

Raphaline might be here for the beer, or maybe the ale. But there is no question that the bard is definitely here for the music. When it comes to dwarves, they were just as musical and hedonistic as the bard, and they mutually were happy to indulge one another. So she is up, singing along and dancing with a few while she holds onto a mug of drink in her other hand.

Sabrina wasn’t here for a beer, that much was clear when she finally found her table and despite being covered in a metallic smelling crust with bits of dino flesh falling on the floor, she still found herself curious as to the cleanliness of the table. She draws out the chair, seating herself comfortably before taking in the actions around the room. She is presented with a bucket of steaming water as well as a pitcher of questionable water with a despicable looking glass of which she wasn’t sure she wanted to touch, let alone drink out of. She took to cleaning her armors- first removing the heavy plating ‘pon head, shoulders, and hands. It was like undressing a nesting doll when the tiny female was finally presented inside. Her hair was tied up high, her visage drowned in concentration.

Raphaline makes another go around dancing with the dwarves until she spots a familiar face. With a thank you to her companions, she makes her way over to the woman's table with a playful grin. "Been out doing some fighting I see." She motions to the armor, but finds no weapon on the tiny woman. Not really sure whether or not she is welcomed yet, she leans against the lip of the table, a decent space between her and Sabrina, having remembered the woman's dislike for close contact.

Sabrina looked up at the woman like she didn’t belong at her table, and with Raphaline’s shadow casting a different view to the table Sabrina was quick to readjust the positioning of her armors so she could accommodate the contrast upon them. “I am applying some theories I have come by… they don’t seem to be panning out.” She pulls out a green leather-bound book and slaps it on the table. “This is highly inaccurate; what’s worse is that every time I try something has to die.” She goes back to meticulously cleaning a gauntlet. She had brought no weapon here, it must have meant she had it stowed some place safe- or that she didn’t need one for what she was trying to accomplish. She didn’t know yet if she knew the girl, but her proximity was not yet an issue to address whether or not she had.

Raphaline looks over at the green leather-bound book and has no recollection of it. "Must be less helpful then those experimental books you had the last couple of times I met you." She hopes her melodious voice might always be the recognizable part of her, if not the emerald shade of her eyes. She does wonder though, what these things were that kept dying and what Sabrina had done to make them die. "What theories didn't go the right way?" She asks instead, still leaning against the lip of the table while she finishes off the mug of ale in her hand.

Sabrina had become less concentrated on her duties and more entwined with the Bard’s melodic tones. She replies far less coldly than before. “Ara states that fear is a chemical reaction naturally produced by the body. I postulate that if this is the case, I should be able to extract that chemical from any species that can exhibit fear-reactive behaviors.” The bard almost made Sabrina unable to keep silent as she carefully explained the extent of her failure with particularly flighty creatures and had since moved on to the Lizard Giants in the Wildlands. She smiles smartly “ You see, the fact that they become angry implies some sort of fear, I learned this in observation when I watched one kill a traveler and then leave the corpse to the scavengers.” She seemed rather proud of that observation. The last time she had met the Bard, this was the discovery she had made, and further tested upon. This also explained the extent of the fluids on her form. She must have been wading inside the corpse during the extraction. “However!” She places the gauntlet rightly on the table and leans forward with an instructional finger pointing skyward. “The chemical is not produced by any specific gland in the brain, of which I have proven all of these theories moot.”

Deaglan arrived. The tavern's air thick with smoke, the scent of stale beer, and the noise of dozens kept rapt by conversation and drink and whatever minutia to which they could cling. He paid them all little mind, wading through dwarves who never quite reached tall enough to look higher than his rangy hips. Still, for all his obvious irritation, his movements are sure. Certain. The folds of his cloak move around him, voluminous, swallowing him up in an almost shapeless and indiscriminate mass of browns and greens. The hair, jet-black, shorn tight to his skull is still filled with dried and drying mud, bits of twigs and leaf-litter clumped in there as well. Still, despite it, he does not look decidedly unhealthy. A few coins are flipped onto the bar without regard for where they land, clattering heavily before settling as he lifts his mug. To the pair, amongst a sea of twitching tree trunks, he pays particular attention.

Raphaline listens carefully to her words, taking fine notes in her mind of exactly what kind of chemical reaction she was looking for in those lizard creatures. "So if it is not in the brain, then where does the chemical come from?" Not very wise in the ways of the body, let alone that of a large reptilian, she couldn't even fathom where. She glances up at the sound of the door opening once more and finds herself quite surprised by the body that makes an entrance. With a brow raised to the man, she gives him a come on over look before casting her gaze back down to the elf. "What do you plan on doing with such a chemical compound once you have located it?" She inquires, setting her mug down on the table, waiting for one of the waiters to come by the table once more.

Sabrina had grown aware of another who did not fit the height criterion of the majority of inhabitants. She falls silent when her eyes meet his with a fresh minty glare. He was filthy… of course her current state was irrelevant- she knew why she was covered in pieces of other things but her hair most certainly did not contain a single twig or...was that mud? She sits way back in her chair in distaste and puts both the cleaned and the soiled gauntlets back on. She would, for the time being, leave the other armored instruments on the table but not after adjusting them so they lay equal to their neighbor. She uses her foot to push out the adjacent chair towards Raphaline so she may sit. She didn’t have an answer for her, not one she would say anyways. “The applications for such a serum are endless… what I would be concerned with in the mean time is fashioning an opposite serum to counter the effects of fear itself.” Her eyes flicker toward Deaglan every now and again as she fall more silent. Her voice now not carrying far enough so it may grace the Bard’s keen half-elven senses. Sabrina was surprisingly open with Raphaline, surely a note worthy of the half-breed’s charms, but it was only now that she had invited this person to her table for a sit down that she thought to recall any meetings from the past. Beneath the very edge of the left gauntlet there was a faint golden glow- what was going on under there was obviously purposefully masked by the reissuing of the pieces in the first place.

Deaglan felt his attention straying between the pair, over them. There was nothing gentlemanly in that gaze. Nothing veiled. With a primal measure, some bestial honesty, the cut of his glacial stare appreciates both at length. There is no argument, not now, and he begins to make his way through the dwarves and towards the pair whom beckoned. Or rather, to Raphaline, who'd beckoned. Still, approaching the pair, he claimed a seat. Absent any shame, settling down, he bent some to lift his hands and brush the rapidly through the short mess of his dark hair. The dried litter falls from it to the floor, piling unceremoniously, before he glances back to them both and regards them in silence over the rim of his mug.

Iintahquohae held the door open for a dwarf she was chatting with to pass through, then followed him inside. He hands her a folded slip of paper that she unfolds, skims over for a few moments, then refolds and carefully tucks away into the inside pocket of her jacket. The woman leaves the dwarf's side after giving a parting wave, and heads for a vacant place to sit and makes herself comfortable. A rarely seen smile is on Iintahquohae's face, but it disappears shortly after she's ordered a drink and she's taken a sip. It isn't much like the stuff back home, but it'll do.

Raphaline isn't sure whether to find amusement or not in the evil look that Sabrina shoots the dirty Deaglan. With the mud piling on the floor, she can practically feel the vibrations of a thousand cringes from the other woman. To settle the tension, she gazes over to Deaglan with a grin, "Aren't ya far from your hillside in Gualon?" She asks, her tone jesting and playful, while she hands her mug off to a dwarf come to collect and fill with more drink. She offers a thanks, before turning back to regard them both over the lip of her own mug, waiting for either responses, or actions to be taken.

Sabrina didn’t like being looked at. She wasn’t being looked at, Raphaline was… point being it was the same general direction and she just didn’t care for it. With all luck the Human female who just walked in would attract any further glares… difficult to say as she herself looked upon Raphaline’s beauty and found it difficult to look away- she was just easy to look at. It was when the delicate tones of the woman began spilling out that Sabrina had realized she was rudely staring. Something about that woman’s fiery hair just made her feel…less. Her own inferior raven trusses were tied back, otherwise she would have been fidgeting with them out of habit. She was happy to be released from answering any more questions and that the attention was drawn to the stranger who apparently hailed from Gualon.

Tristram happened from his domicile on one of those rare excursions that found him deep in the underbelly of Craughmoyle. He'd come from having some rather weighty gems appraised, his dragon's appetite for finer things no less diminished in his illusionary human state. Thus, with ruby, diamond, and sapphire-lined pockets, he made his way into the tavern for a drink before he meant to make the sojourn home again. He'd intended to head for the bar to place his order when he spotted Raphaline, an acquaintance, and Sabrina -- not exactly an acquaintance, but not unfamiliar to him. He made his way over, tapping the end of their table twice with his index finger to beg interruption. "Sorry, I just wanted to pop over and say hello, Ms. Muse." His attention strayed to Sabrina. "And you, madam. I believe we … walked around each other in the stables? And I can only assume you were responsible for the horse delivered to Gualon on my behalf."

Deaglan had little mind for the conversation. Little place. The look had been his purpose, and with that filled, it seemed his interest drifted. The only thing that kept him from settling into his ale with fervor was the question, posed by a fire-tressed bard. The glare paid to him by the other was taken without offense, or retaliation. He'd deal with her later. For now, Raphaline, whom he greeted with what could only have been the ghost of a smile. It scarcely lived upon his face at all. "Eager to get back, truth be told. Or t'was the case, before." He looked then to Sabrina, whose name was a mystery, and rather than run over the conversation she found herself within - he simply tipped an imaginary cap in her direction. His smile was sudden, more sharp than warm, and never reached his eyes.

Inks had a difficult time with jumping into conversations. Part of it stemmed from discomfort with interruptions, while the other was usually a general lack of interest with what was being discussed, really. The familiar sight and sound of Tristram’s voice did cause her head to turn just a bit to search for its source, however. It wasn’t difficult to pick him or anybody else taller than a dwarf out here, so she spotted him easily. Figuring she might as well say hello prompts the seamstress to lift her gloved hand to wave whether he saw or not, and then she lowers said hand again. She went back to her drink afterward, and occasionally felt for the slip of paper in her pocket to double check that it was actually there.


Raphaline finds herself caught between a couple of conversations. First, she checks on the comfort of the woman she was originally speaking with, who has now fallen quite silent. She regards her with an, are you alright look. After checking, she turns to Tristram with another one of those charming grins as she says, "Tristram, darling. You too? I seems Gualon has gifted me with the company of two very different, but interesting men." She offers a hand to the dragon in greeting, seeing as they hadn't had a long visit the last time they had met. It is with this that she regards Deaglan once more, and winks, "I bet. When you've got a place you like, its hard to leave it behind, unless for the right reasons, right?" She downs the contents of her mug before regarding all at the table and asking, "So, who is up for entertaining me with a dance?" The music the dwarves had been playing begins to pick up into a rather lively tune, one of those kinds of tunes that makes the bard's feet tingle with the desire to move.

Sabrina had only just blinked up at Tristram, having not made any notes on him directly. The faint glow swirled under her left gauntlet as she accessed things she may have taken note of about a horse. She hides both arms under the table, discretely placing both hands in her lap. Her demeanor changes when she finds mention of the Gray Mare in her …memories… so to speak. “Frethwi said it was not the first time you came to see her… why stay at the Inn when you can always find your way home?” Though probably not understood by the Dragon the last bit was added in Elvish referencing an old proverb; it indicated that the horse did not belong in the Stables. She found her attention being spread in two different directions as she only barely caught the threat of malcontent harboring on Deaglan’s lips. She squinted at him lightly; the only noticeable hint that she was studying him. She moves quickly to gather her things from the table and place them neatly on the floor when a short bearded woman approaches bearing puffy grips around several amber-filled vessels. She pushes them in the center of the table with little regard for the frothy overspillings that infested the surface of the already despicably filthy table. Sabrina shifts in her seat and finds it difficult to tear her eyes away from the insulting puddles that shifted into a collection of larger morphed-puddles there. She looks up at Raphaline accusingly- if that woman wasn’t wearing such a graceful and inviting aura this collection of contingencies would not have taken place. Sabrina would wait for one or both of these fine citizens to take Raphaline’s hand before quickly gathering her things and finding the door without so much as a goodbye. In all hopes, when they came back to the ale-soaked table their minds would have taken them from Sabrina’s absence without cause.

Tristram spotted Iintahquohae as she waved to him, and he greeted her with his own, which would have to suffice for the moment while he finished his conversation, though he looked purposefully at the seat opposite her, silently asking for permission to join her shortly as soon as his previous business had been conducted. His attention returned to Raphaline as she addressed him, but he found himself glancing Deaglan's way, a cursory investigation of this stranger who hailed from his city. He took Raphaline's hand with some distraction and kissed the back of it before turning to address Sabrina. "She is a beautiful mare. She has a good home in Gualon now. Perhaps a bit more humid than to what she is accustomed." He excused himself just briefly to look Deaglan's way again. "You're from Gualon? Have we met?" And to Raphaline, also in brief, "Perhaps the next dance? I am ill-prepared to embarrass myself until I've had at least one drink." By the time he'd finished addressing Raphaline and turned to Sabrina to include her in the conversation, perhaps fill his dance card with a second party, she was gone.

Deaglan took stock of the table, the occupants. It wasn't hard. There was no trouble. The hard truth was that a man's face, or a woman's for that matter, was not an easy thing to train. Beyond it, lurking, he'd the darkness. It was never stagnant. The ebb and flow of each moment dictated how it'd behave, and in turn, how it'd felt. Coiled, like a snake, with a patience he'd never had in the life before this. A query, pointed, and while he afforded only a slow shake of his head to the man who'd joined late, it was Raphaline that stole the entirety of his attention. Her hand was small in his own, which was dusted with dried dust from the road, and yet as he rose he did so with a lurching certainty that left no room for hesitation. It was the floor he made to take her towards, should she not tug away, and at its edge he'd sweep her up as a quick beat took up through the tavern. She'd find, for all his predatory measure, his feet were swift and sure and his movements careless and easy in abandon. This, should she allow it all to come to pass, would be enough for him to guide her in a sweeping pass as the hints of a smile, no longer ghostlike, began to take root.

Iintahquohae caught Tristram's look and gave a slight nod. Afterward, she eyed who she assumed to be a couple that he was speaking to begin to dance, and watched for a moment with some admiration. It looked like they were enjoying themselves. She finished off the rest of her drink, then tapped the side of the glass with her ring finger so the silver band wrapped around it clinked against the glass. It was subtle enough to not tug the serving woman's attention away from others, Iintahquohae thought, but enough to at least indicate she wanted a refill whenever she happened to be free.

Raphaline knows better than to force Sabrina to stay where she doesn't want to be--at least, she had come to that conclusion now after their fourth meeting. So, she turns to Tristram with a look that says, you bet I will hold you to that. "You still owe me one from Gualon as well too." She adds before finding her hand taken up in the hand of the one who you might call brutish. Honestly, she had half expected the man to be clumsy upon his feet, almost is a trudging sense, and yet, it seems it is not so. She is surprised, and it shows on her face as her emerald eyes grow round, and she raises a brow, curious as to where he had learned to move. That thought is pushed into a place for another time, instead, she adapts to his movements and move her body in tune with his, her steps as graceful and sure as a feline on the prowl. The song may be fast, but her feet seem to take the notes and swirl them into a slow motion of her arms extending and her feminine, long legs swaying her body in motions and moves that cause fiery curls to dance about her form and face.

Sabrina exits south.