RP:A Spark

Summary: Iintahquohae demonstrates her lackluster magical ability to Magik. His encouragement is her first nudge to finally requesting entry to the Mage's Guild. She is hesitant, however. Perhaps she needs more of a push.

Part of the Weave Your Own Fate Arc

Hanging Corpse Tavern

Magik slips in from the outside, "Mesthak! The norm, good sir!" But, this isn't Kelay. The Lyastri stops in his tracks and blinks before heading to the bar to take the closest stool. The patrons of the tavern would get a thorough look over before ordering a simple blood wine.

Iintahquohae can be spotted at a table by the hearth, felling down the seams of a garment just as she had been the majority of the day. She looks tired. Stops from time to time to take a swig from the mug beside her – a concoction of coffee to keep her up and blood to keep her fed. The sound of Magik's arrival rouses her from the monatanous task in her lap, she turns her head in his general direction. “Sounds like you're lost,” she says.

Magik slowly spins in his stool with his order of wine in hand to locate the source of those words. Fiery eyes look over Iintahquohae with a smirk, "Pure habit, if anything. That poor Mesthak. I guess he deserves a little break from my shenanigans." The pointed ear vampire pops the top and takes a swig from his drink.

Iintahquohae regards the elf with a look of mild interest, pausing again with her sewing to take another drink from her mug. She detests it, but better this than long bouts of sleep between rounds of gorging herself. Once the drink is forced down, briefly covers her mouth with the back of her hand to muffle a cough, then reaches for the handkerchief in the pocket of her jacket – crisp and white, monogrammed with her initials on a corner – to dab the corners of her mouth. The black sludge she coughed up hopefully looks like the contents of her drink from a distance. Opting to focus her attention Magik for a time, the seamstress bites. “What sort of shenanigans?” What a boring question. But she's bored. It will have to do.

Magik simply shrugs his shoulders, "Oh, ya know. Typical drunken antics, brawls, spewing black, erm, bile from my face. That's always fun." Quotes' coughing didn't do unnoticed but he wasn't about to press a stranger for answers. So instead the questions quickly fill his thoughts. Why are you coughing? Do you have the same sickness? Are you a long lost D'Chath relative?! The elf plays it cool though. Don't make it awkward Magikrios. "Whatcha making?" he asks because he's also awkward sometimes.

Iintahquohae was not a fan of typical drunken antics. That was how mistakes happened, like the tattoo she believed she acquired after a drunken night. Her hand absently reaches to rub at the tiny snake tattoo tucked behind her left ear. Thankfully, her hair is down so it's unlikely to be seen, but a quick eye may likely catch it. His mention of vomiting a similar substance to herself piques her interest. Maybe he had whatever she did? Unfortunately, Iintahquohae is too polite to pry. And too tired. She looks down at the project in her lap that pools over her feet, then replies, “A gown. ...Not for myself.” It's a nauseatingly pink and shimmery number. “Client wanted some sort of merfolk-esque gown that is likely very inaccurate to real merfolk.” She didn't like it, but hey. Money's money.

Magik audibly hmms, "Ah. Interesting." He knew nothing of actually making clothes, just sewing up rips in clothes as well as skin. He also wasn't going to attempt to learn about the trade either so he takes focus off of the subject. Quotes seemed polite enough to offer his name. Atleast some of it. "Name's Magikrios." The elf takes another swig of the wine to settle the sudden urge to spew his black bile. It was nothing personal. After wiping his mouth on his sleeve he asks, "New to these parts?"

Iintahquohae resumes working on the gown, albeit more slowly to keep up with Magik's conversation. “Iintahquohae Oohjmaeyik,” she offers for her introduction, then gives a slight shake of her head. “This is a second home to me. I am,” a pause, as her tone shifts to one of uncertainty, “or perhaps I was, of House Azakhaer. Whether or not the house continues to exist, I am one of Kasyr's...brood, I suppose.”

Magik doesn't attempt to repeat Quote's full name out loud. Although he will try his very best to remember it. Even though he's close to fluent in Drow, that name is a mouthful. Rotating on his stool just a tad more, he leans back to prop himself up with his elbows against the bartop, "Oh. I know of Kasyr. He's a fellow Auxilia Veneficus in the Mage's Tower. Though, he doesn't seem like the siring type, or whatever you want to call it, these days. Different Kasyr maybe?"

"The Kasyr that ruled here," Iintahquohae replies. Whether or not he goes to a mage tower is unknown to her. She decides to describe her sire for Magik, along with a horrible attempt at imitating his voice. "Talks like this, et...Ears," she pauses to awkwardly pantomime his ears, "Tail, sword. ...Smokes a fair bit. Has a nice jacket." She made the jacket. Naturally it's a nice one. Can't have her sire running around in terrible clothes. "As far as I know, there is only one Kasyr."

Magik nods and laughs at the attempt to recreate his weird accent, "Sounds like him except for the jack.." Magik, don't you say it. Quick math. Situational awareness. Be polite. "..tail. He has a tail?" He mumbles quietly to himself, "I'll have to ask Tessa about that one." Anyways. He offers Quotes a soft smile as he fixes his posture, "Do you need a message passed on to him? I have a late night class to teach in a few moments. I could pass by his office if need be."

Iintahquohae is quick to catch any potential criticisms of her work, but considering it's Kasyr wearing the jacket and how many times she has either repaired or flat out replaced his jackets, she assumed the worst. He ruined it. Again. Instead, mention of the elf teaching grabs her attention. "You teach magic? What kind, exactly?" She did want to try learning again someday.

Magik takes a small sip from the bottle once more as he prepares to answer her question, "Oh. I teach two classes. One class is more of an anger managment through relaxation class. But my specialty is pyromancy."

The very kind of magic she tried and failed to learn. Poor Daath. Poor Inky's arm that one time. "How serendipitous. I've wanted to learn that specifically for ages, without much success." Setting her sewing down and popping the thimble off of her finger, the seamstress attempted to give Magik an example of how dreadful she was with pyromancy. She snapped her fingers. Nothing. A few more quick snaps, and if Magik were to squint, he might see a spark. A couple more snaps of her fingers, and she has a terribly tiny flame floating just above her fingertips. It's minuscule, but the woman's small smile looks triumphant. "It is...really not much, but I would like to improve one day."

Magik 's dark fiery eyes light up as he softly applauds the effort. A genuine smile forms across his features, "Well done! If you really wish to improve perhaps we can get you settled into the Mage's Guild, if you are interested of course. We have many great teachers there. If not, I could still offer you some tips to help you grow that flame." The Lyastri was clearly excited about his profession and the art of controlling such a powerful element. "Are there any other gifts you might have? We have a terramancer at the guild and a couple of very skilled spell blades."

Iintahquohae appreciates the praise. Entering the Mage's Guild did sound appealing, but with her current...illness? She is uncertain she could dedicate enough time to study. Deciding to shelve the idea for the time being, she replies, "I would appreciate any tips you have, Magikrios. As for other gifts, I have worked with water to roughly the same degree as this flame." She pauses to pinch her fingers together, extinguishing the tiny flame. "I have also worked with and manipulated this." She reaches into her jacket pocket for a spool of thread, and sets it on the table. The thread is silvery, reflective, tangible yet not. A fragment of time that has been stretched and spun into thread by the seamstress. "I can't say what exactly it is, but when the sky was torn open here long ago, I used this to seal it back up. I imagine it's some sort of gift." She pockets the spool of thread after the elf has seen it, then shrugs. "I've never used a sword and know nothing of spell blades or terramancy. What I showed you is really all I know, unfortunately."

Magik has never seen such a spool or heard such a tale to go with it. He was curious, but time was against him this evening, "Well, Iintahquohae.." Oh! He said it! "I would like to continue this conversation very soon. I have to get to my students before they burn down the tower or worse yet, themselves. I'll be sure to have a small lesson for you when we see each other again." With that, his form evaporates into a black smoke trail that heads out of the tavern and towards the Xalious Mountains.

Iintahquohae grins. “Likewise. Have a good evening, Magikrios.” She turns back to her sewing with the assumption he would exit the tavern via the door, but finds herself puzzled at the smoke that leaves instead. What an interesting travel method, she thinks.